The Wilde Files
by ScaraMedn
Summary: The year is 1947. The name on the door is Nicolas P. Wilde, Private Investigator. Clients come to me for answers. Usually, ones they don't like. I find them with the help of my questionable circle of acquaintances and my Girl Friday lending a paw and taking dictation. These are our stories. (Assuming I survive them.)
1. Chapter 1 - The Bunny Broad Pt 1

From the Desk of Nicolas P. Wilde, P.I.

The Case of the Bunny Broad

Since I first became a Private Investigator I've had my fair share of unpleasant experiences. I've taken my lumps and dealt a few out, in return. Over the years I've walked these streets I've seen a lot. You can see a lot of the worst the city has to offer in my line of work. You hear stories of terrible things and you meet the mammals that do them. I've met plenty. Some like me. Most don't, but that is neither here nor there. They tolerate me because I am one thing they need: a fox.

Foxes get a bad rap most days, but the assumption that you're a sneaky, clever bastard who'll do anything for money has its advantages. It's good for business. I am especially suited to fitting this stereotype and making it work for me. I know everyone. I have my thumb on the pulse of the city and I know the mammals to talk to when answers are needed. It's a skill and an asset in my line of work. It makes me valuable. It also has given me more than a few of those lumps.

I'll be honest. I'm a phrenologist's dream come true.

Over the course of my career, I've tried to come up with certain rules to follow. Most of them haven't lasted a week. "No drinking on the job" didn't survive my first missing kit case. "No working for the mob" was gone on the second day my doors were open for business. Even "Honesty is your only recourse" only lasted until it was a choice between honesty and certain death. Now, I have a more practical, if mercenary, outlook. I take the cases that come in. I do my part. I walk away.

It sounds cold, but I'm not my clients' parent, a therapist, or a fall guy. I have a job and I get paid. My Three Rules help me make sure I do my job and get paid. These are the guidelines that have stayed tried and true through it all.

Number one, everybody lies.

Number two, make sure the customer signs the Payment Agreement before you do anything for them.

Number three, never take a case from a crying female.

This case was one where I remembered the first rule, barely managed the second and blew off the third. Now, I have a few new funny bumps on my head, a few dollars in my lock box and a My Girl Friday situation.

* * *

 _I am not your girl anything! Is this really how you write your reports?_

 **Carrots, I'm the P.I. You are the secretary. My job is the case. Yours is the typing.**

 _I'll take dictation, but I'm changing the title. I am not "The Bunny Broad."_

 **So, you'll take dictation, will you… OW!**

* * *

I'll never forget the first time I saw her. I knew she was trouble the moment she walked through my door. It was a nice door. Something straight out of the movies; smoked glass with "Nicolas P. Wilde, Private Investigator" stenciled across it. Simple, elegant. Cliché. Everything that a mammal looking to hire a P.I. wants to see. The predictability lulls them into a sense of familiarity. They know what they're getting. That's why my office is all old, cheap furniture.

A simple wood desk sits across from the door, in front of the windows. Behind it, a hat rack and filing cabinet that have seen better decades stand by the wall. In front of the desk is the classically uncomfortable wooden chair that makes a person want to get out of it as soon as they've sat down. Exactly what a client wants to do, anyway.

A worn sofa sits in the corner with a few pieces of old clothes, a rumpled blanket and a pillow carelessly tossed across it. It creates the illusion that I live there, that I'm down on my luck and I need the work. It makes clients more likely to throw me a bone and less likely to fight my fees.

For my work, I will be paid. A flesh-eating, fire-breathing hell-bitch of a lawyer will see to that. She wrote my Payment Agreement and she knows exactly how to enforce it with the courts. Most clients wouldn't dare cross her for the sake of avoiding having their dirty laundry aired on the public record. The rest would rather face the devil himself than her in a courtroom. I'm pretty sure she could give him lessons on contract law.

I wear a rumpled suit, a grimy white trench coat and a trilby that looks like it was lost in a windstorm before I found it. It creates an image of hard work and bad luck that clients want to see. Now, why they would want to hire me if I look like this is a question I get asked a lot. The answer is simple: my reputation. I get results.

They are rarely the results my clients want, but that isn't my problem. I'm a cold-blooded bastard who'll get the truth, whatever it takes. I will talk to the scum of the city, or highest of high society. I won't waste time or pull punches; not with sources, not with clients. I'll do the dirty work. My appearance says so.

Appearances are everything. That's why I knew she was trouble as soon as her pretty little knuckles pattered on my door. At first, it was hard to hear, thanks to the rain. I'd say it was a dark and stormy night, but it was early afternoon. Also, "stormy" is the normal state of being for the Rainforest District, so the set up loses a lot of its charm.

"Come in."

She was short. Obviously. She was a rabbit. Rabbits are all short, to me. The trouble was she was short, curvy, well-dressed and eyes that felt like a kidney punch when they landed on you. Seriously, those peepers of hers should be registered as deadly weapons.

She'd been crying. Oh, gods… she'd been crying. Sign number one that I should just walk away.

I have a really bad track record with females. Crying females, especially. Call it a carryover from the savage days of prehistory, but when I see a female in tears I can't help but want to help them. It's been the source of a lot of those lumps I mentioned. If it isn't the female herself, it's the father, boyfriend, husband, brother, or some flavor of Ex or stalker that gives them to me. I also wish it was just foxes. We have an understanding to a point. We all have it rough, so we cut members of our family of species a little slack. I only wished I was lucky enough for my interest in females to stop at vixens, but no. I'm an inter-species sucker. Anything from a shrew to an elephant, if it's female and upset, I'm a gonner.

She was female, upset and smaller than me. That's three nails in my coffin. It didn't hurt that she was easy on the eyes. Very easy. She was, in a word…

* * *

 _You say the word "cute" and I'll slap you, Wilde._

 **Even if it's the correct term?**

 _Yes. You know very well it's insulting to my species and do we have to go into my figure quite so thoroughly? My feminine appeal has no bearing on the case!_

 **It adds context. It also makes better reading.**

 _Excuse me? To whom?_

 **You wanted the details and facts as they happened, Carrots, including my thought process. Remember?**

 _Your investigative methods, yes. Not your opinion of my attractiveness!_

 **Even though that was half the reason I took your case?**

 _What?!_

* * *

She was, in a word, dishy. For a rabbit, of course. All the right curves in all the right places and not shy about showing them off. It was obvious she was hoping to cloud my judgement with sex appeal. It didn't work. Mostly.

"Mr. Wilde?"

"That's the name on the door, Sweetheart, and I'm the mammal behind the desk."

"You're awfully rude, considering you're speaking to a potential client."

"Mammals don't come to me for manners. They come for answers. Now, you have a problem, I take it, or are you here just to show off that dress?"

She hid her satisfaction at my noticing well enough, but not enough for me to miss it. Every time a pretty girl comes through my door I hope she'll be a good one. My record stands at a solid "lousy" on that tally.

"My boyfriend disappeared. I want you to find him."

"He in trouble?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe means yes, in my line of work. If you want my help, you need to tell me what he's tangled up in, or you can wiggle right back out my door."

As it turned out, she had more of a reason to appear in my office than to show off her tail and the skill of her seamstress. She had a boyfriend who was missing, who just happened to be a cop; a cop who was wanted by Internal Affairs for questioning and had vanished.

"We've been seeing each other for four months now. Then suddenly he was gone and his commanding officer came looking for me."

According to the rabbit her buck's CO was a certain cape buffalo that I'd had the dubious pleasure of meeting once or twice. He'd made a point of looking her up at her place of work and had been none too friendly, or quiet, in demanding she tell him the whereabouts of his missing officer. It wasn't long before the waterworks started and she was dabbing her eyes with a dainty, embroidered handkerchief.

"Did the water works work of the Chief?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The weeping female routine? It's a classic, but I hardly think Chief Buffalo-butt would fall for it any more than I am. So, what's the real story?"

For a long moment there was nothing but stunned silence from my would be client as the tears dried up. Then the shock wore off and she began to visibly tremble with righteous indignation, or so she'd like me to believe.

"You think my tears are the result of an attempt to… to gain sympathy rather than an honest expression of concern for a mammal I care about? How dare you. I came to you for help, not for sympathy you… you…"

"Just like I think how you're dressed is supposed to distract me from using my brain instead of my beltline. Now, cut the crap and tell me what you want. Theatrics won't get you anything but ignored. Now, whatever it is you aren't telling me? Tell me. Or leave."

Her glare could have split stone. "He's a good mammal and I know he didn't do anything wrong. Which means he's in trouble and needs help."

"Alright. Let's say he's the paragon you claim he is. What makes you think he's in trouble other than big, tall and grumpy showing up?"

"The chief was shouting and seemed extremely angry."

"That's how he is from leaving bed until he returns to it. I'm pretty sure he grinds his teeth in fury while he sleeps. Now, what makes you think your exemplar of virtue is in trouble if he is as pure and perfect as you say he is?"

"Is mockery just part of the service you offer, or do you save that for females in distress?"

"A little is complimentary, but the more my clients try to snow-job me the more they get. Now, I'll lay it all out and hopefully you decide to listen. Whoopsie number one was you trying to distract me. It tells me that you don't want me looking any deeper than the surface, so I know there's more to it. Then, you lied to me. Double whoopsie. If you were serious about knowing nothing, you wouldn't be trying to appeal to my masculinity to get what you want. You'd be more direct and urgent, less weepy. Whoopsie number threesie? Talking about him like he's nothing but good. The more a client talks about how good someone is, the more of a smokescreen it is. So, now I know your boyfriend is a cop, less than squeaky clean, wanted by his superiors and you know what's going on, but you're covering for him. He's a lucky buck. Now, what is the last piece of the puzzle? Why is his absence a bad thing and not just being on duty, or visiting family, or anything perfectly normal?"

"Your reputation is deserved."

"Flattery will get you flirting, but nothing else."

"Donald was very open with me, but he was very cagey in one area. He played poker at a place called Gerome's in Old City, once a week."

"I know it. It's by the Tundratown climate wall."

"That's the one."

"Why is that suspicious?"

"My Donald was bad at cards. He complained about it a lot. He couldn't even beat me at Gin Rummy, but he always came back from Gerome's with winnings."

"What kind of winnings are we talking about?"

"We would have enough to buy a house next month."

That got my attention. Cops don't make much until they make Detective, or Lieutenant, and even then it was a struggle to get a house with property prices as they were. Donny-boy was a beat cop with four years on the force. That told me a lot. It was pretty clear he was on the take and had been probably since he had joined the police in the first place.

Gerome's also rang a bell. It was a known neutral ground for the Families. A lot of black market business went down there and the owners had ties to at least three major crime syndicates. Winnings from poker at Gerome's was code for a lot of things from smuggling to running numbers. Generally, if someone known to frequent that place went missing there was only a matter of time until they showed up in the river, without a pulse. Not that I was about to tell her any of that.

"Alright. Here's what I'll do. I'll check into your case. One day only. If everything is as you say, I'll be able to give you something tomorrow."

"I suppose that's all I can ask for." So saying, she slipped off her chair as I rummaged through my desk drawer for an Agreement. To my surprise, she didn't try to leave. Instead, she headed around my desk with a little more hip in her gait than she had when she arrived. Whatever else could be said about her, the bunny knew how to use her curves. She pulled my eyes back up to her face by clearing her throat. Her grin belonged on a feline. "I'm staying at the Grande Pangolin Arms boarding house on Ficus Avenue. You can reach me there." She handed me a card with her address, leaning far closer than she needed to for the task. The view was certainly nice. Before I could find my voice, she turned and headed for the door. I couldn't help but stare. Her hips and tail were like a hypnotist's watch.

The door was almost closed when I remembered the papers in my paw. I looked at the card reflexively and was rewarded by learning her name. "Miss Hopps!"

"Yes, Mr. Wilde?"

"Before you go, you need to sign this. Just a formality."

She tossed her mark at the bottom of the sheet and was gone moments later. It wasn't until she was gone that I took my first real breath since she arrived.

This, I did not need.

Paying the bills was one thing, but dealing with anyone at Gerome's was asking for trouble. The patrons were a who's-who of the city's underworld. Generally, mammals you only talked to if you had no other choice, or needed something you couldn't get anywhere else. I knew most of them. We were cordial to each other, as enforced by the bartender's Billy club. Some owed me favors. Some I owed favors to. What really put me off was the fact that my tab was due and Joey wasn't about to let that slide another week.

I pulled a few bills from petty cash and headed out. There was no time like the present to get this over with. Besides, business expenses went on the bill. I'd get reimbursed.

* * *

 _I am not paying your outstanding tab at a bar as part of your expenses!_

 **You aren't paying anything, remember?**

 _It's still unethical! Why is aspirin on your expense report?_

 **For the same reason I'm taking some now. Ow!**

* * *

Expense Report:

Initial Consultation: $10

Daily rate: $20

Expenses incurred:

Food & Drink: Gerome's - $11

Travel: bus fare - $0.10

Medical: preemptive bottle of aspirin - $0.50

Additional fees: N/A

Case Notes & Addenda:

Rule Three was originally "Never take a case where your dick is the only one in favor", but my secretary changed it.

* * *

 _Of course, I changed it! Nothing about your male anatomy should end up in the case files. Especially ones where I am involved._

 **A female rabbit who's disinterested in male anatomy? Who knew?**

 _I'm not disinterested in males. Just you._

 **May you always feel that way, Carrots.**

 _I will. Trust me._

 **Does that mean you'll stop blushing when you help me change the bandages on my back? Ow!**

 _Don't worry, Boss. The fur will grow back. They had to shave the area for the stitches, so what's a few more tufts?_

 **Evil Bunny. Wipe that grin off your face.**


	2. Chapter 2 - The Bunny Broad Pt 2

From the Desk of Nicolas P. Wilde, P.I.

The Case of the Bunny Broad (part 2)

The trip to Gerome's was a non-event. The number eleven bus got me from the rainforest district to the Docks, then the trolley saw me there in good order and with little fuss. Frankly, I could make the trip blindfolded. All I would need is the correct time and the steps would happen like a well-choreographed dance. I could do it in my sleep. According to a few of my acquaintances, I have.

* * *

 **You find something funny, Carrots?**

 _You shouldn't use dancing as a positive comparison, Nick. I've seen you dance. There's nothing well-choreographed about it._

 **I'll have you know, I was trained by the best.**

 _You should get your money back. That, or apologize to your teachers._

* * *

Gerome's was a dive. The building was well maintained, but a dive, nonetheless. The building stood alone, almost as if the other buildings were concerned about being seen with it. The only washing it got was during a storm and even then, the grime never really came off. The windows were greasy and faded paint warred with the frayed shingles for which would give out first. Despite that, there was always a crowd in and around the establishment. Shady characters, the lot of them. It was part of the patina of the place and part of the allure.

Lookouts littered the entrance while informants, fences, brokers and contacts for the underworld were scattered around the tables inside, each holding court in their own little kingdom. Some were open about their presence, flaunting their bodyguards. Others huddled in shadows. In truth, it made no difference. Whether you were a peacock about it, or a ghost, you played nice. Otherwise, Gerome would introduce you to his cudgel. Being a hippopotamus, and a very large one at that, no one took the threat lightly.

I arrived at the bar and took my usual seat. I like to be two seats in from the corner, on the opposite end of the bar from the door. It's a coveted seat. It has a good view of the entrance and it's close to the back door and windows. If a speedy exit is required it's not a far trip. It also is easily visible, so if mammals want a word, they know where to go. This is a good thing when powerful mammals want to speak to you. They tend not to be patient.

"Hey Joey. How's it hanging?"

"Tab Wilde."

"Ha, ha. Joey, you know I'm good for it."

"Tab."

Nick leaned his elbows on the bar, offering his best 'trust me' smile. "See, thing is I'm on a case right now, Joey. I just need a bit of information to close it. Then, when I get paid, you get paid."

"Heard that before. Still waiting for the pay off."

"Aww, Joey I'm hurt. Didn't I score tickets to Foalies Beargère for you and your girl? Those weren't easy to find, you know. Show was sold out all over."

"Oh yeah, you got me tickets all right. In the rodent section!"

"Great view right? You could see over the heads of everyone else."

Joey's glare could have cut steel. "Tab."

I reached for my wallet and laid out what I owed. "Never let it be said that I don't pay my debts."

"Eventually." Joey grumbled. "What do you want, Wilde?"

"Information. You know anything about a Donald Clover?"

"Never heard of him."

"I don't need details, just a name."

"Never heard of him."

"He's a rabbit cop. There aren't many and fewer still that come here once a week."

"There's one and I've never heard of him."

"Come on, Joe. You're always in the know."

It was the sound of ultimate suffering. Joey's groan told me he'd give me something. It held the weight of sufficient irritation and desire to be rid of me. "Talk to Sal."

"Sal…"

"Yeah. Who isn't here. Now, bugger off."

"Can I get a beer first?"

A glass of beer that was my size and mostly foam slammed down in front of me and Joey snorted as he stomped away. The Sal connection was not one I wanted to hear. Salvador Ursinski was four things that were not good. Items one through three were a polar bear, short-tempered and big. The fourth was a mobster and an ambitious one. He stumbled off the boat from the motherland and connected with some fellow expatriates associated with a particular mob boss. Three years later, he was an enforcer with underlings and making his way into underboss territory. Quite the meteoric career path.

Unfortunately, there were downsides to such speedy success. One of which Sal had in spades: arrogance. He thought a lot of himself and it showed. Usually, when a mobster gets that kind of cocky one of two things happened. Either they end up dead or in charge. Considering who he worked for, I had a good guess which one it would be.

I nursed my beer for a while. It wasn't very good. The term for it was rotgut, but it was all Joey would serve me. I wasn't in a rush to leave, but not because I was savoring the liquid fouling my glass. Sal was not a mammal I wanted to talk to. He was a handler with designs on making Underboss in a particular crime syndicate and the head of that Family and I had a little history; not the best kind. Thankfully, he wasn't at the bar just then, so I had a little time to breathe.

Or so I thought.

Ten minutes later, I was done my pint of flavored air and left Gerome's. Twenty minutes after that, I had a bloody nose and was being held between two polar bears. It's a challenge to be charming while blood drips down your face and onto your shirtfront and tie, but I was willing to give it a shot as I was dragged into the study of the mob boss I just mentioned. This was simply not my day.

"The prodigal cub returns!"

"Sorry, Alonzo, but I'm not biblical enough for that reference."

"You certainly could be a plague."

"I'm too well dressed for sores and boils."

"And insolent as ever."

"If I weren't, no one would recognize me. And how could I refuse such an august invitation? What can I do for the Big Family, today?"

"Don't take me for a meatball, fox. I hear whispers you're asking about Donny Clover. Dish the magillah on what you know and I'll be very grateful."

"I know less than you, I promise."

"You promise. What's a promise from you worth?"

"You know what my word is worth, Big. What's yours worth?"

"You're a pistol, you know that?"

"I hear it from time to time. Mr. Big, sir, I don't know where Donny boy is, but I'm looking for him. If you help me find him, I'll make sure you are informed."

"After he is in police custody, of course."

"After my client is informed. The cops come second in my reckoning."

"First, the hotsy-totsy little rabbit, then the cops and I come third. How many greenbacks would it take to come first, Nicky?"

"More than you can offer, but I can offer second place."

"How much?"

"What you know about Donald Clover and what he was mixed up in, plus my expenses. I know your word is good for it."

"And yours is good for silence. None of this leaves this room." I nodded and Big considered for a moment before continuing. "Clover was on the payroll. He offered protection on behalf of the family to the businesses on his beat. A week ago, he disappeared right before he made his usual delivery."

"You think he took the cash and ran."

The shrew nodded. "I want my due and Clover needs to be reminded of how things work. Find him. Tell me where he is and you'll get your pay."

Nick took a moment to answer, thinking quickly before responding. "There's more to it than that. Isn't there? Sure, it would hurt to lose a few hundred bucks, but why couldn't his handler…" Nick's ear perked and a smirk curved his muzzle. "This wasn't a one-time thing was it? Donny-boy'd been, what…?" Then it clicked. "No… Oh, don't tell me the knucklehead was skimming off the top. Just a little here and there, right? Only his handler didn't notice, or maybe was in on it, and now there's a lot more missing than a single haul."

"You're too clever, sometimes, fox."

We worked out a deal. It was very simple. I find Clover and tell him after the Hopps doe and before the police. I manage that and I might walk away. I keep my smart mouth in check and I might walk away happy. I did manage one concession from the conversation. Well, two actually. One was a handkerchief for my nose. The other was that the Family would leave the doe out of it. It didn't take much convincing.

* * *

 _Wait. You worked out a deal with a crime boss? On my dime?!_

 **Technically, at that point it was his dime.**

 _I can't even begin to tell you how wrong that is... and how on earth do you know him?  
_

 **I, uh... once sold him a very nice rug made from the fur of a skunk's butt...  
**

 _Are you pulling my leg?  
_

 **Nope.  
**

 _And he didn't ice you for selling him a skunk floor covering?  
_

 **A-heh... not that kind of rug, sweetheart.  
**

 _Oh, sweet cheese and crackers... how the hell are you alive?  
_

 **A silver tongue and repaying the debt. Also, a lot of groveling. Apparently, the sheer audacity impressed him enough that I could bargain my way out. We've been... coolly cordial, since.**

* * *

I knew I had to get something for Big. Now, he was the client as much as the rabbit, whether I liked it or not. I needed answers and I didn't have much to go on.

Big wanted Clover. Hopps wanted him too. Push come to shove, I knew who would win. Still, I don't let down my clients. I had to figure something out and the only lead I had was a very big bear who didn't like me. I made it back to my office before I remembered there was a third player. He was big and angry and wore blue.

The black and white sitting outside my building was all the reminder I needed. As I passed through the front door, I nodded to the officers flanking it.

"Higgins! It's always a displeasure to see you and Rhinovitz... what can I say? You're surly as ever." The hippo started to speak, but I cut him off and brushed past him. "I'll just got up and say hello to the chief, shall I?"

As the door swung shut I heard the rhino mutter, "prick." It brought a smile to my face.

Strolling through my door, I was prepared for the glower that greeted me. Chief Adrian Bogo was standing menacingly in the dead center of my office, waiting. Nothing had been touched, or so it appeared. I'd be a fool to think he hadn't had a snoop around. He wouldn't find anything, of course.

"Why hello, Chief! Fancy me getting a visit from tall, grey and gruesome, today!"

The conversation I had with Addy went much as the conversation with Big went. The main difference between them lay in the lack of civility, especially once I started calling him "Addy". Where Big had been aggressive but reasonable, Bogo was the same, only without the reasonable part. He also lacked the part where payment was offered. The part with a lack of consequences if I helped him, too. In fact, it wasn't until I mentioned him dealing with Melisandre that he eased off the threats. He never wanted to be opposite her in court, ever again.

The threats were hollow. Mostly. It was all part of the dance. I'm not the only mammals who appreciates keeping up appearances. Finally, we managed an accord, of sorts.

"Listen, Wilde…"

"Yes, yes. I know. You don't like me, but I'm useful. The last fifteen minutes of threats made that quite clear."

"I was going to say that we can work together, but that's obviously not possible."

"No kidding."

The huge mass of grumpy finally sighed and sat in the uncomfortable chair opposite my desk. I could hear it start to cry. "Alright, fox. Cards on the table."

This made my eyebrows rise. We had obviously gotten through the bluster portion of the conversation. This was all very standard. Transparency, on the other paw, was atypical. I'll be honest, it was almost unheard of. Rather than show my surprise, I simply nodded. The law is very clear about client privacy and I don't bend those rules, but I know better than to snub the cops. That would just be stupid.

* * *

 _A characteristic you lack in no way whatsoever._

 **Your vote of confidence is noted, Miss Hopps.**

 _Anything for you, Boss._

 **If that were true, you'd be wearing less. Ow!**

* * *

The chief began. "I had Hopps tailed to you. She was our only lead."

"One of your usual trackers? Wolford, or Lupinski?"

"Wolford. When she arrived at your office he called it in, but his backup didn't arrive in time to follow you and he had orders to stay on her. I know you, Wilde."

"Everyone does."

"Exactly. Everyone knows you, so you have access to a lot of contacts that won't talk to us."

"I'm not a snitch." I let Bogo's scowl grow for a moment before diffusing it. "But I'll tell you what I can. A question first, though. What about this is such a big deal? It has to be big to get you personally involved, so what's the beef?"

Bogo scowled at the cheap shot, but got the message. It had to go both ways. "Officer Clover is the cousin of a city counselor."

"So this is a family matter." Bogo nodded grimly. That made this much less comfortable. "Yes, chief, it is a Family matter." It took a moment, but the sudden look of realization hit hard.

"You're sure?"

"Straight from the horse's mouth. Or, rather… the shrew's."

Now, he knew. Not the details, but enough. He didn't stay long after that.

Now, I hadn't given him anything solid, but enough to know what the deal was. I didn't envy him. A cop involved with a Family wasn't exactly news. The political angle also wasn't news. Hells, that may have been how he got involved with the Family, in the first place. The point was, Clover was bent and sloppy enough to get caught crossing both the cops and the Family. He also was either smart enough, or unlucky enough to disappear. That was the sticking point. If he'd stayed and taken his medicine, there wouldn't be such a fuss. Him being gone left everyone in limbo. Would he start flapping his gums? Dropping names? It could get ugly very fast. The situation had only a few outcomes, none good. This was going to be a fracas for the good bull. It also wasn't my problem. My problem was Sal.

* * *

 **And to what exactly do I owe this latest bruise, Carrots?**

 _You were disrespectful to the chief!_

 **Of course, I am. If I was nice he'd think the world had gone mad. You have got to stop hitting me, Carrots. I might take it the wrong way.**

 _I had no idea you liked it that much. I'll have to do it more often._

 **You want me to enjoy your attention? Why, Miss Hopps, why didn't you say so?**

 _Ugh… You should worry about your foul mouth more than my punching._

 **How about this, I'll start a swear jar and you'll start a bruise jar.**

 _Not a swear jar. An innuendo jar._

 **We'll both be broke in a week.**

 _You will be, I'm sure._

 **Or we could save time.**

 _Save time?_

 **You could give in. Ow!**

* * *

Expense Report:

Initial Consultation: $10

Daily rate: $20

Expenses incurred:

Food & Drink: Gerome's - $11 + 0.50

Travel: bus fare - $0.10

Medical: preemptive bottle of aspirin - $0.50

Liniment - $0.25

Gauze – $0.30

Additional fees: Dry cleaning shirt & tie – $1.10

Case Notes & Addenda:

It should be stated that I get bulk rates on gauze and I am considering investing in liniment and aspirin.

* * *

 _Is that a comment on your lifestyle, or my involvement?_

 **My life was always a bit rough and tumble, but since you showed up it's only gotten worse.**

 _My mother says it takes a firm hand to tame a male._

 **Carrots, if you keep making it this easy the Innuendo Jar will be full in minutes. I don't even know where to begin.**

 _Then, maybe you'll stay quiet for longer than six seconds._


	3. Chapter 3 - The Bunny Broad Pt 3

From the Desk of Nicolas P. Wilde, P.I.

The Case of the Bunny Broad (Part 3)

Once the Chief dragged his petulant hide out of my office, I finally had a chance to breathe. More importantly, I had a chance to mop myself up and get ready for my next little foray into the unpleasantness that this case was turning into. I changed my shirt with the spare I keep in my desk and swapped ties, as well. My suit jacket and trench coat weren't too much the worse for wear and blood, so I didn't bother replacing them. The mob at least had some respect for a gentlemammal's clothes, especially when they're well dressed.

* * *

 **What's tickling your funny bone now, Hopps?**

 _You. "Well dressed" and you don't belong in the same sentence._

 **Do you believe that the clothes I wear on the job are the extent of my wardrobe?**

 _I'm fairly certain whatever else is in your wardrobe is equally tragic._

 **Pity.**

 _What do you mean by that?_

* * *

With Sal absent from his usual mid-morning spot at Gerome's, my next best bet to find him was his favorite lunch spot. There's an old delicatessen, probably as old as the city itself, in Tundratown and everyone knows it. It has a name made of about forty consonants and one vowel, but can be pronounced in two syllables. I don't claim to know how that works, but I'm no linguist, as my secretary can attest. Most mammals just called it The Deli and left it at that. What I do know is it's a staple of expatriates from the Snow Republics and Sal was well known to visit there on a near-daily basis for a little taste of home. If I was going to find him, it'd be there. If he didn't show up, I'd have to come up with something else, but that was a worry for another time.

Sal wasn't known to stop by The Deli before mid-afternoon, so I had plenty of time. After a pint at Gerome's and my little heart-to-heart with Mr. Big, it was only just after 1:00. I was hungry. It'd take a bit of work to get to The Deli, so once I was cleaned up enough to be presentable I made tracks to the trolley. There were plenty of street vendors at the various transit hubs between my office and The Deli, so I knew I'd find enough of a meal to keep me covered until Sal's usual appointment. I headed off into the early afternoon wondering how much worse this job could get and hoping I wouldn't end up in traction, at least.

* * *

 _Never mind traction. You'll end up hospitalized because of your diet, first!_

 **What are you on about now, Carrots?**

 _A beer for breakfast? A bag of fried crickets and a bug-on-a-bun for lunch? I can't believe you aren't dead just from what you eat!_

 **Are you offering to cook for me?**

 _Maybe… If it means you stay alive long enough to keep paying me, I have to say it's tempting._

 **That doesn't make me feel better, sweetheart.**

 _I don't care if you feel better. Wait…_

 **When you make up your mind, let me know. Until then, keep typing.**

* * *

By about 4:00 I was situated across the way from The Deli and waiting. Freezing my tail off in the process. The lee of the building afforded me some protection from the wind, but I was still in Tundratown. It was damnably cold, despite the hour. The alley I'd chosen for my stakeout was the only real option. The shopfronts along the opposite street had one of two flaws for being acceptable stakeout locations. The first being the layers of hoarfrost covering most of the glass. If you can't see your target location, you'll never see your mammal of interest arrive. Pretty basic, but it's amazing how many investigators fail to remember the basics.

The second, and more personal, of the reasons was that foxes weren't welcome in that particular part of town. An arctic fox, or even a Corsican might be able to get away with favoring one of the shops in the area with their custom, but not I. Red foxes were considered vermin for the most part. That explained why I was freezing my tail off in the shadow of a building, instead of passing the time in a shop, or café. It also explained how I ended up with the lovely set of gashes across my back.

It was fairly obvious what had happened. I'm good at my job, but it's hard to hide from everyone, especially the smaller species. I'd bundled myself up and did all I could to avoid attracting attention, but it was a delaying tactic at best. Mammals in communities like this were close knit and word traveled fast. I'd expected to be harassed by someone at some point. Maybe even removed by force by a local bullyboy looking to keep the riffraff out of his neighborhood. I was not expecting my quarry to come for me. Sal loomed up out of the shadows behind me and I found myself neatly squirming with most of my torso in a polar bear's fist.

"Why you here, fox? Not welcome."

"I think you know why, Sal. Otherwise, you'd have let someone else run me off."

The humongous ursine grumbled his displeasure before rumbling, "You here for stupid rabbit."

"Close. I'm looking for Donald Clover."

"Yes. Stupid rabbit. Stupid rabbit not here. Not anywhere. You go."

"I can't go anywhere until I have something to give my client."

"Yes. Other stupid rabbit. What I care about your contract with share crop?"

* * *

 _Share crop?!_

 **His words, not mine, Hopps.**

 _I suppose "stupid rabbit" was all him, too._

 **That it was. Hopps, why are you so upset?**

 _It's demeaning! I can't believe you!_

 **You wanted me to report what happened; verbatim, specifically. How can you be angry with me over what he said?**

 _It's you saying it now!_

 **Are all rabbits irrational, or is it just you? OW!**

* * *

"She's one client. My other is someone you know." The bear raised an eyebrow. "Your boss."

The expression on the bear's face was one I knew well; the face of a mammal who thought they'd covered themselves seeing the noose tightening around their neck and fighting to see a way out. That face was usually followed by angered desperation. Considering my position, I did the only thing I could. I kept talking.

"I was pulled in earlier today. Mr. Big himself commissioned me to look for Donny Boy on his behalf. Didn't give me a choice." As I prattled, I wriggled enough to force Sal's paw open. It wasn't too difficult. I also didn't get very far; just enough to manage a small shift in how I was gripped. "He wanted a chat with Clover about the dangers of skimming cream. You wouldn't know anything about that, now would you, Sal?"

I got a look fit to bore through metal for that one. I knew he'd say something. If I was lucky, he'd think I wasn't a threat and slip up, giving himself away. If he thought I was, I'd have an angle to negotiate. I was lucky. I hate being lucky.

"I tell you, fox. Stupid rabbit not here. Not anywhere." The bear's grin was the furthest thing from kind or friendly imaginable. "Just like you about to be. Like iceberg in bay."

As he spoke he gripped be hard enough to stop my breathing, but I had all the leverage I needed. As soon as he confirmed Clover was dead, I struck. I rammed my thumb into the crease at the top of his wrist as hard as I could and twisted. Foxes don't have very sharp claws, but they can still hurt if you use them right. In this case, it hurt my dance partner enough that he roared and released me.

I slapped into the snow and ice-covered ground. Fortunately, I didn't have any air to knock out of my lungs and I worried about breathing later as I scrambled like mad away from the now furious Sal. I made my escape quick, but not quick enough. His swing connected and my coat, suit jacket and shirt took the majority of the hit, but not all. I knew he'd tagged me, but I was more concerned with the force that flung me through the air to bounce off a frozen brick wall.

I knew he'd caught me at an awkward angle with his off hand. Otherwise, I'd have been dead. That didn't make me feel much better as I wriggled through a hole in a fence and sprinted as fast as I could away from the scene of my latest tango with the Grim Reaper. Sal must have thought better of pursuing me, because I never saw him again. I made it to a phone booth and made three calls as quickly as I could. The Chief arrived with an ambulance in tow.

Once the sawbones had me on the table and numbed up, the Chief came in. We had a nice little chat while I got patched up. I'd call it my official statement, but it was nothing like official. Nothing I said would ever end up on record.

"What happened, Wilde?"

"A big bear took exception to me."

"I can understand the desire."

"You're all heart, Chief."

"And you're a mess."

"Other than passing the time, are you here for a reason?"

"You called me, Wilde, not the other way around." Bogo at least had the respect for the hospital to thunder quietly. "You have something?"

"You seem stressed, Chief Bogo." I shot a look over my shoulder at the doctor plying his trade. "You might want to take a few days off. Go ice fishing."

Bogo caught my meaning. I really must give the bovine more credit. "I didn't know you enjoyed fishing, fox. Any recommendations where I should cast my line?"

"Tundratown bay is nice. Not too far a trip. I know a few polar bears who favor Icecap Cove. Good fishing there."

"They don't have problems with new faces? No accusations of poaching?"

"If anyone bothers you tell them Uncle gave you a day pass. They'll leave you be for a few days. As long as you mind your own business, no one cares."

"I'll take it under advisement. Try not to get too beat up next time you go snooping around, will you? Every time your name shows up in a report, I feel another hair go grey on me."

"Why, Chief Bogo. I didn't know you cared!"

The Chief snorted and left.

A while later I was all set to leave for my next appointment. The doctor was very clear in a resigned way about what I should do if I felt dizzy or nauseous, or if my stitches pulled. I've seen the poor sod more times than I care to admit and heard the same spiel enough times that I can parrot it back verbatim upon request. He sent me back out into the world, yet again, with what I'd need to not bleed out and enough medicine to keep myself functional through the healing. I really should send him a card at Yule this year, or maybe a fruit basket.

Twenty minutes later I was stepping off the bus by my office. It was clear that my next client was waiting for me. Once I was inside the vehicle, it was all business. No surprise there.

Mr. Big was not feeling particularly patient. "Nicky, where is Clover?"

"Dead."

"I need more than that, fox. I have been patient and I know that you talked to Bogo before coming here. I paid for first place, not a grudging second."

"One, Bogo didn't give me a choice, considering he showed up with the ambulance. Two, you paid me for second place, I called you second and now you're getting information second, so contract fulfilled. All Bogo knows is where to look for his missing officer, but that works to your advantage."

"How precisely does Bogo snooping around my turf turn into a good thing, fox? If you don't have a good explanation, Bogo may find you before he finds his missing cottontail cop."

"Bogo knows the score, Big. He'll behave while he's looking for Clover's iceberg. All he wants is closure for the family and City Hall off his back. That's it. However, it may be to your advantage to make sure the Chief finds the mammal responsible for his officer's untimely passing."

"I'm listening."

"Sal iced Clover to cover his tail. He caught the rabbit skimming the cream from the protection racket."

"This, we suspected. Where is the advantage to cutting Sal loose?"

"Sal iced Clover because the rabbit was drawing attention to the skimming Sal was doing himself."

"I see."

"The way I see it, Clover's been handled, but you still have a problem that needs addressing. You can't have someone in the organization taking liberties like that. It's bad for business. You could deal with it and throw Bogo a bone at the same time. A body makes for a nice funeral, but a body and the killer is better. The water buffalo is well known for repaying favors."

"If someone like Sal ended up with the cops, he could sing them a lot of pretty songs, Nick. That also would be bad for business."

"Mr. Big, don't you think the judges around here are overworked?" I looked up and stared at the roof of the car under the shrew's sharpened gaze. "The cops could still put two and two together for the Clover family. Maybe Sal took a permanent trip to escape a long vacation in the Joint. Nothing to do with you."

"Maybe." Mr. Big scratched his chin before meeting my eyes again. "I will consider it. In the meantime, you have done me a service, Nicolas. Send me your bill when this is concluded and I will attend to your medical expenses."

"Thank you, Sir."

I made to depart the vehicle, when my second client called out to me. "Expect a bonus if this slight of paw you propose plays out." I looked back and nodded my understanding. "Now go, Nicky. There's a young lady waiting for you in your office."

I wasted no time leaving the Don's presence.

* * *

 _So, your first client ended up being your last priority._

 **Are you upset about being the last one I talked to, or having your part of this case recorded?**

 _I'm not proud of it, but it's for posterity._

 **Posterity, my eye. No one will ever read these files, Carrots.**

 _You can't know that!_

 **You obviously know best. Now, let's finish up. I have a dinner engagement.**

* * *

When I made it to my office door, I could see that Mr. Big was telling the truth. Not that I doubted the shrew, of course. Even the suggestion could get an otherwise innocent mammal turned into an iceberg.

It was interesting to see the change in her as she sat on the same chair in my office she'd graced before. She was the same rabbit. Proper curves and pretty face, but more her and less façade. Her sundress was more fitting for her farmgirl background. Don't get me wrong. She was still very easy on the eyes. The attempt at influencing me, however, was obviously over.

"Well, hello, Carrots. I'm glad you could make it."

"I'll ask you to refrain from using that moniker with me. It's demeaning."

"Oh… So, you don't like it when people treat you with overt condescension." My trilby floated up from my paw to rest on the hat rack. My coat joined it. "Perhaps, because treating you as inferior because of your species might be as poor a behavior as… Oh, say… manipulating me because I'm male and therefore don't use anything above my waistline for thinking with?"

Her acknowledgement was evident in the set of her shoulders and her expression. "You said you had something for me when you called. Have you found my Donald?"

"Yeah. I found Donny Clover, or what happened to him. He's no longer among the living, but you knew that, didn't you?"

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I had my suspicions. How did you know?"

"You spoke about him in the past tense. No one does that if they have hope, or if it's too fresh. You came to terms with the possibility and accepted it as the truth before you even showed up on my doorstep, didn't you?"

She nodded, eyes firmly on her lap.

"And let me guess, you aren't in a position to pay for my services."

She shook her head.

"Alright, rabbit." I plopped into my chair and put my feet up on my desk. "I'll give you a chance to explain your side of things. This is the one shot you have at getting any kind of consideration from me, but I warn you. Any fake tears; any attempt to pull something over on me and I will throw you out that door, myself. If that's more than you're willing to put up with, then get out of that chair and walk, right now."

"No. You deserve an explanation." She squared herself. "I didn't know Donald was dead, but I suspected it. I knew he wasn't a good cop a few months ago. Rabbit courtship isn't a long process, Mister Wilde. Donald and I were engaged before we'd had a chance to really know each other."

"I'd point out the flaw in that method of selecting a mate, but it isn't my species."

"And yet, you manage it nonetheless. I agree it is rushed. Back home it would have been less of a concern, as it's…"

"…A carrot choke podunk?" Not my finest hour, I admit. I don't generally kick mammals when they're down, but after my day I felt it was justified.

Evidently, she did as well, but only that far as she replied, "Yes, and that is the last cheap shot at my expense I'll allow you. Are we clear?"

I nodded, impressed. She had some steel in her spine. Despite my ill temper, I found myself smiling a little.

"I first suspected Donald of questionable dealings a few months ago. I've been interested in law enforcement since I was a kit, so I know how much he should be bringing home. The gifts he bought me were far too much for him to be able to afford at his rank. I started paying attention to his behavior more when we were out on the town. He seemed to know a lot of mammals I wasn't comfortable around. I realized how he was getting his extra pay and the likely source. I was going to break it off, but I had to be sure. Then, he disappeared."

"And you had to know."

"Whatever he was mixed up in, I didn't know if it was by his choice, or if he'd been coerced. I didn't want to think poorly of him undeservedly, especially if he was dead."

"Following your logic, you then came to me to provide the service. How did you hear about me?"

"I'd heard your name from some of Donald's coworkers at the precinct. I attended a dinner with him in honor of Sergeant Higgins' promotion. You came up in conversation."

"I'm sure their recommendation was glowing." I could only imagine the colorful terms the ZPD could have used to describe me.

"In a back-handed way, it was. I knew you'd get to the truth no matter the cost."

"And the cost was not small, sweetheart. You've admitted you can't pay, but it isn't that simple, is it? Thanks to Bogo visiting your work, if you still have a job you won't for long. Also, because you were engaged to a bent cop, your reputation will make it difficult for you to find a replacement."

"You continue to live up to your reputation." Her distress was self-evident. "I was informed my services would no longer be required yesterday afternoon and the accounts I shared with Donald are frozen. There wasn't a lot in there, anyway."

"You said you'd have enough for a house, soon."

"I also said Donald was bad at cards. There's some in those accounts, but even if they are ever unsealed it won't do much for me." She resettled herself in the chair before continuing. I felt a frustrating urge to get a better one for my clients, expectations be damned. I was caving. "I have some money put by, but it won't last long and it will not cover the expense of your services."

I sighed. I was going to regret this in several ways, but I needed to get something out of it, even if that was just ruffling her feathers. "Under different circumstances I'd say we could find an alternate arrangement…" I let the possibilities hang in the air to let her indignity build, before dropping the other shoe. "…However, you are in luck. Another concerned party in this case has come forward to cover my expenses, so you are off the hook. You are free to wiggle out that door and put all of this behind you. You won't have to work off your debt to me by scrubbing dishes."

As I delivered my last lines, I waved her on her way and leaned back in my chair. At that point I expected her to breathe a sigh of relief, perhaps smile and nod her appreciation, and then make tracks. It was how most of my clients reacted on the rare occasion they got good news. That left me with the quiet and solitude I preferred for finishing my cases. Some personal reassessment, a review of my shortcomings, the legal paperwork to fight the inevitable refusal of payment; You know, the usual paperwork that comes with running a business.

She surprised me.

"Now that you mention it, Mister Wilde, I had hoped for an alternate solution; one that could be to both our benefits?" she asked coyly. Now, it was my turn to wait on the dropping shoe. Her smile told me I did a poor job of concealing my surprise. "I'd hoped to eventually find a position with the ZPD. I'd hoped for a place in Records, or as a secretary. That's impossible with things as they are now, but you're an investigator…" Her expression had been a touch coy until she said the last word. Then, I was reminded of how dangerous those peepers of hers were. "…And it looks as though you could use a little help around the office." I registered her pointed look at the sofa and pile of clothes, but dismissed it. I was too busy reacquiring the power of speech.

"You want to be my secretary, Carrots?"

"You need help. I need work." She shrugged in a distractingly coy manner. "I am at your disposal, Mister Wilde."

I had to consider her offer. It was a pretty good deal. Especially with the view. My mouth made my decision while I was still mulling over the specifics. "Work starts at 8:00."

She smiled radiantly as she collected her things. This time she didn't walk around my desk to give me a show, preferring to direct her movements directly to the door. She walked with a perky, rolling gait that was much more her than last time she'd walked away and somehow more distracting.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," she called back over her shoulder with a grin and cheekily hooded eyes. "Boss."

I knew at that moment I was doomed.

* * *

Expense Report:

Initial Consultation: $10

Daily rate: $20

Expenses incurred:

Food & Drink: Gerome's - $11 + 0.50

Street meal lunch – $0.30 + $0.50

Travel: bus fare - $0.10 x 2

Trolley – $0.05 x 3

Medical: preemptive bottle of aspirin - $0.50

Liniment - $0.25

Gauze – $0.30

Ambulance – Pending

Hospital admission & consultation – Pending

Stitches – Pending

Painkillers – Pending

Penicillin – Pending

Replacement dressings – Pending

Additional fees: Dry cleaning shirt & tie – $1.10

Phone calls – $0.05 x 3

Shirt – $8.00

Suit Jacket & trousers – $30.00

Trench coat – $49.00

Necktie – $0.11

Case Notes & Addenda:

Acquisition: New secretary - $44.00 per week. (Plus expenses and hazard pay, at her insistence.)

* * *

 _Are you almost done in there, boss? I have to… Wow…_

 **You have to what, Carrots?**

 _I…Uh… You clean up nice. Where'd you get the suit?_

 **I told you my work suits are not my only wardrobe, sweetheart.**

 _Your dinner date will be impressed, I'm sure._

 **I know she is. She just told me.**

 _She what?_

 **You ready?**

 _I- I never agreed to go to dinner with you!_

 **I never said I had a date. I'm taking you to dinner to celebrate your first day.**

 _That's kind of you. Thank you._

 **Don't worry. I promise to be a complete gentlemammal. I'll keep my paws to myself until after the third cocktail. OW!**


	4. Chapter 4 - The Idiot Alpaca Pt 1

From the Desk of Nicolas P. Wilde, P.I.

The Case of the Idiot Alpaca

(The Simpering Socialite)

This case was one of my more lucrative ones. If I'm completely honest, if it was a comparison of earnings to effort, rarely have I earned so much for doing so little. I fervently wish more of my cases worked that way.

* * *

 _Of that I have no doubt._

 **Are you implying I'm lazy, Carrots?**

 _I don't have to imply that the sun rises, boss._

* * *

Before we begin, I should say a word or two on the nature of my work. As a private investigator, advertising is something of a self-effacing course of action. Advertise too much and you appear desperate. Don't advertise at all and you starve. The key to it is not just in the scale, but the method. Ads in the papers will get you some business, as will the phone book. However, the real moolah is found through referrals. One mammal needs help and they invariably have friends. If you do a good job, when a friend or family member needs a helping paw, they recommend you.

It's no guarantee, but it's better than nothing, along with most other things. The average mammal, even the wealthy ones, prefer a friend's recommendation over a cold call. Otherwise half the city would be out of work.

Once upon a time, I had the dubious pleasure of assisting a particular socialite with a delicate personal issue. She has, since then, passed my name around to those in the glitterati who need the services I can provide. I admit, I owe her for that; and she routinely collects on that debt. Fortunately, while this case was one of her referrals, it was not one of the cases I regretted taking on. Enduring the mammal, yes, but not so much the case.

* * *

 _I'm fairly certain you regret any case that requires getting out of your chair._

 **It's comfortable and the view is nice.**

 _The only thing you look at in here is me when I come in!_

 **And watching you leave is the best view in the city.**

 _I didn't realize you disliked me so severely._

 **I didn't realize you were so oblivious.**

 _What's what supposed to mean?_

 **Wear your ears up, Carrots. You'll catch more.**

* * *

It began as they usually do. The client arrived and the theatrics began. The client being a diva, quite literally, these were especially flamboyant. Miss Simone Vicugna had retired from the opera at the height of her career. Quite the accomplishment at the ripe old age of thirty-seven years old. She lived in ridiculous splendor as a member of the glitterati elite, since. Her name was in all the social columns and on quite a few performance halls. She was a bona-fide member of the crème of high society. When she flounced through my door, I knew I was going to regret it.

"Mister Wilde?"

"That's the name on the door and I'm the todd behind the desk, Madam. How can I help you?"

"You can remove that tone from your voice, for a start."

"That's part of the service. If you're here you know that from whoever recommended me."

"That's true, but I had hoped to see better behavior."

"You can have sycophantic groveling, or results. Which are you interested in paying for?"

"Results." The petite camelid formed the word as though it was broken glass. I was under-impressed.

"Then, please, sit down and tell me how I may be of service."

She sniffed dubiously at the chair across from me. I remained impassive as she gave me an even stare and motioned to the door. A sheep footman primly entered my office from the front room and proceeded to dust the chair thoroughly before laying a handkerchief on the seat. He then minced to stand by the door in a that particularly condescending manner that only trained servants can pull off. It was not until this little ritual was complete that she deigned to be seated.

In the meantime, I had a chance to study my soon-to-be client.

The daywear was no surprise. She was dressed to the nines and dripping with ostentatious jewels. A masterpiece of gaudy excess. The worst of which was her indulgence in the recent wool-grooming craze. The result was a bouffant-esque confection cobbled together from the head-fur. Ruminants and camelids were great appreciators of the style, as they had no need for artificial assistance. That said, it looked absurd and history would prove my assessment correct. Naturally, she wore it like a crown and adorned it accordingly.

I saw my expenses tripling.

* * *

 _You disgust me._

 **What else is new?**

 _Do you have any sense of ethics?_

 **According to you, I don't understand words longer than four letters, so no.**

 _I have a few choice words for you. You might even understand most of them._

 **What is your problem, Carrots? This case was a cakewalk and we got paid well for it.**

 _You ripped that client off and you know it!_

 **She knows, can afford it and was happy to do it.**

 _Not the point?_

 **Do you like the idea of unemployment, my dear?**

 _No…?_

 **Neither do I and this case paid the rent for four months, as well as our wages.**

* * *

Once the camelid diva was seated, she graced us with her reason for slumming in coming to visit our little hole in the wall of an office. Her words, not mine.

"I wish for you to investigate a theft."

"What was stolen?"

"I dislike your tone, young mammal."

"And I dislike wasting time. You want us to find a stolen item, then time is of the essence. The longer you delay, the less likely the recovery."

"The police have already conducted an investigation."

"You want me to gumshoe over what they already did? Pointless. Any evidence they missed would be destroyed by now."

"Even so, I am willing to pay for you to do so."

I sighed, knowing I was going to do a lot of pointless legwork and get paid for it. Inglorious and frustrating, but it was a payday. I wasn't about to turn it down, especially when the client knows it's a wild goose chase.

"Alright, Madame Vicugna, tell me what happened."

At that, the diva paused. "You know who I am?"

"I do. I even saw you perform during your final tour. I was young, but your performance was unmistakable."

Her preening was deserved, but still a touch disturbing. Batting one's eyelids ceases to be effective when one must apply make-up with a trowel, after all. Still, once my compliments shifted her away from imperious condescension she was much more tolerable. If there was one thing I knew would change the tune of a theatric, it was pandering to their fame. Here, it worked like a genie's wish and she was all flattery and smiles.

As it turned out, what was missing was an ornament for her ridiculous head-fur style; a long-tined pin made of gold and encrusted with jewels. The very sort of gaudy, disgustingly excessive flaunting that the absurdly rich are so well known for, when they're in the spotlight too long. She was absolutely convinced that it had been stolen my her now former lady's maid. The police had disagreed and she had taken umbrage that her word wasn't enough to sway the investigating officer.

Naturally, she then had turned to her friends and associates in the circles of the wealthy and powerful. My name came up and she decided to slum it out for the chance of recovering her headpiece, or at least seeing the ewe whom she was sure had stolen it behind bars. Not a glamorous task for me, but I can't always choose my clients. Especially when it comes to the Lady who dropped my name in Miss Vicugna's lap.

Once the details were in my capable paws, my new client sashayed out of my office. No sooner was she out my door than my assistant was in. She'd gotten rather nosey of late, asking about how I conduct my cases and providing me with an endless stream of questions about my investigative technique. It was frankly a bit tiring.

* * *

 _Well, pardon me for trying to make myself more useful in the office._

 **You are plenty useful, Carrots.**

 _Filing the three papers a week you bother to write is hardly taxing to me._

 **I write more than three a week and you know it.**

 _The only paperwork you actually do is the billing._

 **That's the part that keeps us afloat and, therefore, the only part that matters. Why the interest in learning investigative technique, anyway? Are you looking to steal my job, or just strike out on your own?**

 _No one would take a female detective seriously, but I can at least help with researching, or something, but you never do any!_

 **Not true. We did plenty of research during this case.**

 _Mooching meals hardly counts as research and you aren't a gourmand, so don't try it._

 **You were perfectly happy to mooch along with me, if that's the case.**

 _You're splitting hairs, boss._

 **I'd love to split a particular one.**

 _I beg your pardon?_

 **Your obliviousness is truly impressive, now back to the case notes. Incidentally, you should wear your ears up more often.**

 _My ears are always up!_

* * *

While I headed off to the city registry and agencies for domestic servants, I sent Carrots to the offices of the company who insured the head piece. The bureaucrats at the agencies and city hall don't care for me much, but they don't care about much at all, either. I can get information out of them as long as I bore or annoy them enough to get them to oblige me. That and pay their fees. Insurers, on the other paw, disliked me on an intrinsic level. I'd make a comment on their insecurities when faced with male perfection, but the truth is simpler.

I'm a fox.

My secretary, however, is not. Being that she is young, very healthy and female, she has an advantage or three when it comes to getting information from officious blowhards, like insurers. She's non-threatening, pretty and she can pretend to be dimwitted. Most males give her what she wants just in the hopes of pleasing a pretty girl. The rest either want to be rid of her, or are hoping it gets them a little share-crop time.

* * *

 _I am not a share-crop!_

 **I never said you were, Carrots. They assume it and it works to our advantage. How is that not good?**

 _It's insulting that they think I'm a floozy just because I'm a rabbit and unwed at my age._

 **You know better and so do I. Why concern yourself with anyone else?**

 _It's not fair…_

 **Stop being a kit. You don't like being young and beautiful, I don't like being a fox. It's unfair, but them's the breaks, kid.**

 _You love being a fox._

 **And you love being young and pretty. Ignore the twits.**

 _You said I was beautiful, before._

 **You're both. Now, stop fishing for compliments. We need to get back to the notes. I have dinner plans.**

* * *

The city registry and public records didn't turn up much, but they did help me paint a picture of the servant Miss Vicugna was sure had robbed her. Belle Shear, age twenty-six, unwed. Employed as a domestic servant since the age of eight, working with her parents until she came of age, then striking out on her own. She'd trained well during her formative years and earned a series of respectable positions with a variety of employers. Continuity of employment, good references and a steady increase in position demonstrated her ability and good moral character. It left me very confused as to why an upstanding lady and servant of character would steal from her employer.

My confusion only deepened when I finished with my interviews at the agency who placed her. Miss Shear was unemployed and taking a sabbatical according to the agency's books. She'd returned to visit her family before seeking a new posting. Hardly the behavior of a criminal. Her temporary rooms were still occupied and other than a few days of personal effects, all accounted for. The rather severe dromedary who showed me the books and Miss Shear's rooms made certain I understood all of that.

"Mister Wilde."

"Yes, Madam Khamsin?"

"I wish to assure myself of something."

"You're worried that a shifty fox like me will do some harm to your agency by falsifying my findings?"

"Hardly. I know your reputation and while I dislike your kind, I see no reason to doubt your record."

"How very comforting."

"You will not be tetchy with me, Mr. Wilde. I make no secret of my distaste for vulpines. Dirty, conniving species…"

"Clearly."

"However, this agency employs many. There are shirkers, yes, but the majority work hard and have excellent references, despite their species. Elsewise, they would not be on our books."

"I'm glad to hear of your dubious opinion of my kind. Do you happen to have a point?"

"You're rude, unpleasant and foul. However, your reputation does you credit. Theatrics notwithstanding, you do your job well and effectively. That is all I ask of my employees, regardless of species, so while I don't like you I do believe you will not do harm where undeserved."

"Thank you, I suppose. Now, what did you want assuring of, precisely?"

"I want you to understand that Miss Shear is innocent. The police cleared her and I made certain they investigated my end of things fully. Absolute transparency. That's what we stand for here."

"And Miss Shear didn't object?"

"Not at all. On the several occasions she was questioned and her rooms searched, she resisted in no way whatsoever."

"Your assurance?"

"Mister Wilde, I want you to promise me that you'll vindicate her in this. I do not understand why her former employer, Madame Vicugna, believes it was she that lost her headpiece, but it is simply false."

"Lost?"

"Yes. Lost."

"Just to clarify, you mean misplaced or forgot the whereabouts of, correct?"

"Correct."

"Madam Khamsin, I'll be frank with you. I don't have enough information to make a decision about guilt or innocence. I've only just started my investigation. It's also not my job. From what I've see so far, I do not see Miss Shear as a thief."

"That is a relief."

"However, you must understand that I will have to complete my investigation in full before I can make any determinations and then it will be my client's decision how to proceed. I won't say she's guilty of anything, but I will not clear her until I have all the facts. That being, I will not promise you anything. I will however, promise to get the whole story before I make my reports. Is that sufficient?"

"Of course. If we can be a help in any way, just say the word."

"Thank you."

"The idea of her stealing is preposterous in the first place." Madam Khamsin paused a moment to make sure no one else was in hearing distance before whispering loudly, "That doddering old drama llama probably left it behind a washbasin, or something."

I snickered at the reference to the over-the-top style of theater common to alpine and particularly llama culture. It had contributed to the rise of decorative fur shearing and the horrifying crime against fashion budded "Dyed in the Wool". There were ruminants wandering the streets in colors not even Mother Nature—in all her infinite variety—had ever conceived of. However, that was not my concern. It was easy enough to avoid the areas where such excess was prevalent. Such places were outside my budget unless I was on the job, so that helped.

I left the agency and made tracks to the nearest pay phone. I had a sneaking suspicion what this was about, but there was no way I was making any accusations without proof. Also, when it came to dealing with the rich and powerful there was a rule: get as much out of it as you can. Ten minutes later I had an invitation to lunch the following day for myself and my secretary at Madam Vicugna's estate. It was the start of a beautiful case.

* * *

 _A beautiful case… Is that what you call bilking your client for meals and expenses?_

 **I didn't bilk anything. She offered to feed us and I accepted.**

 _And the expenses?_

 **Our billing includes expenses incurred in the course of the case. That's in the contract and backed up by receipts and my lawyer.**

 _Isn't it a conflict of interests to receive gifts like that?_

 **We aren't public servants, so no.**

 _It doesn't feel right._

 **Tell me, Carrots. Did you enjoy the gourmet cuisine?**

… _yes…_

 **And the rooms we were given for our stay during the investigation at her home?**

 _Of course, I did!_

 **And how often do you think that kind of treatment comes along for mammals like us?**

 _Almost never…_

 **Exactly. So, we enjoy it when we can. Now, do the billing.**

* * *

Expense Report:

Initial Consultation: $10

Daily rate: $20

Expenses incurred:

Food & Drink:

Travel:

Medical:

Additional fees:

Rich Customer Fee – Base consultation at three times regular rate. Same for Daily Rate

Idiot tax – 200% of base consultation and daily rate

Finder's fee – 10% of the value of the object recovered, 15% if convenient

Case Notes & Addenda:

* * *

 _Have you even_ heard _of the term "ethics"?_

 **I believe it is some form of leafy green plant.**

 _That's a ficus and I want nothing to do with "Idiot tax". What's wrong with you?_

 **If by "wrong" you refer to my business savvy…**

 _This is thievery!_

 **It's expected.**

 _Wha— How?!_

 **The rich and powerful expect to be overcharged. It shows she's getting the special treatment she's accustomed to. We charge regular rates and she's not getting celebrity treatment. She came to us for exactly that and we'll charge her for it.**

 _How do you get away with this?_

 **I don't get away with anything. This is policy based on advice from our patron.**

 _Patron? We have a patron? Why am I just finding out about this?_

 **Trust me, Carrots, I wish I could spare you the knowledge.**

 _Whatever you say, boss. I still refuse to be a part of these absurd charges._

 **They were going to pay for our dinner out at your favorite restaurant, but I'll just cancel our reservations, then.**

 _Wait! Let's… Let's not be hasty?_

 **Reconsidering your position, are we?**

 _For a helping of Sam's veggie casserole?_

 **And the carrot cake?**

 _I'll get my coat._

 **Good bunny.**

* * *

A/N:

And so, Nicolas Wilde, PI returns to the stage with a new mystery and the sardonic assistance of his favorite rabbit secretary. Please, read, review, PM or whatever suits your fancy. This story is shaping up to be a fun one. I hope you enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5 - The Idiot Alpaca Pt 2

A/N: And here we have it! The conclusion of the second case of the Wilde Files. I hope you enjoy it. There are more cases to come and quite a few more twists and turns to face for our favorite fox and rabbit sleuths, so stick around!

On a personal note, I was recently convinced to create a Ko-fi account. I write for fun, but I can't deny that I would welcome the support. I drink a lot of coffee, so any help feeding the engine is appreciated. In case any of my readers want to support the madness that is my writing, the following is the link (I hope). If it doesn't work, please take a look at my profile there should be a marginally more functional version there.

a href=' /R5R8DTLD'Buy Me a Coffee/a

I'm also on under scaramedn and the link is accessible on my AO3 account, as well.

Now, on with the show!

* * *

From the Desk of Nicolas P. Wilde, P.I.

The Case of the Idiot Alpaca

(The Simpering Socialite)

* * *

I would like to state for the record (assuming anyone reads these, like my secretary claims) that my profession is not always a glamorous one. I feel no shame for what I do. Earning a living is not something to sneeze at, especially for a mammal of my species. I may be poorly viewed by society at large and dance a little bit on that razor's edge of the legal/illegal divide, but I'm basically a white hat kind of mammal. I do what I must to give my clients the answers they ask for. That is sometimes not a proud thing.

The majority of my work centers on finding uncomfortable truths. Proof of philandering husbands, unfaithful wives, thieving business partners and the kinds of family you'd rather not have are my usual stock in trade. Then, there's the runaway kits and cubs. I still have nightmares from some of them. It's not glamorous or noble. I don't have a badge or a pension waiting for me. I usually end up injured, disgusted and unappreciated for my work. So much so that my lawyer does brisk business just from enforcing my invoices.

And then there are the cases that are particularly uncomfortable. Those usually come from the upper end of the social scale and from a particular type of recommendation. I dislike these types of cases, but not for the money-side of things. They always pay very well. However, I usually end up needing a very long shower and a bottle of bourbon at the end of it.

That said, most of my work is on the lighter side of grey when it comes to the law, and it pays the bills. I can't ask for more than that as honest work.

* * *

 _The lighter side of grey? What does that even mean?_

 **It means that I sometimes have to deal with mammals like Mr. Big to make ends meet.**

 _You're talking about a mob boss in relation to a case for a socialite. That makes no sense._

 **Carrots, don't kid yourself. The social elite can make Alonzo Big look like a pantywaist.**

 _You have got to be joking. You consider that sweet old alpaca as much of a threat as Big?_

 **I consider her more of a threat and so should you.**

 _Give me one good reason why._

 **The Families and those like them are a loose confederation of warring tribes. They're as likely to do each other a wrong as a right in a time of need. The elite are a united front. They'll defend their class without hesitation and they'll bring their friends. All of them.**

 _OK, so what does that mean?_

 **It means that you're going to end up doing things you aren't comfortable with.**

* * *

We arrived at the Vicugna estate courtesy of the former diva's chauffer and car after a rather rushed series of preparations. I admit it was a close thing. I had to swing by City Hall for a quick bit of sleuthing and Judy had to run home to pack a bag for the night. I had what I needed in the office, so it wasn't a concern for me. Fortunately, Judy got done her errand to the city about the same time I got back from the agency. It never ceases to amaze me how effective she can be at getting information quickly. As Madame Vicugna had been so courteous as to arrive early in the day, we had just enough time to collect ourselves and meet the driver at my office at eleven o'clock.

It was quite the treat to ride in a Moles Royce Phantom. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't be allowed within spitting distance of such a vehicle, so when the chance arose I took it. My secretary was uncertain about the propriety of accepting the proffered ride until she was informed there was no other way to get there. Even taking the train would put us fifteen miles from the estate gates and that would ruin our luncheon appointment.

The dirty looks I got from her were the stuff of legends.

* * *

 _I should have refused to go._

 **Stop being difficult, Carrots. You had a wonderful time and you know it.**

 _I did not!_

 **Superb food, a wine selection that puts the Palm to shame, the most comfortable bed you've ever slept in by your own admission, delightful gardens, some of the finest architecture in the region, and a successfully concluded case. Where's the problem?**

 _You forgot the little fact of the company._

 **Yes, yes. I am aware you despised every moment you spent with me.**

 _Not you. I meant her! That obnoxious alpaca was infuriating!_

 **Of course, she's obnoxious. She's a member of the glitterati. It's their privilege, bought and paid for.**

 _That's no excuse!_

 **Carrots, you live in a fantasy world.**

* * *

Our arrival at the estate was underwhelming to say the least. The grounds were kept, yes, but only in the most minimal of terms. The lawn was in need to grooming, the flowers were healthy but on the edge of rising up in revolt, the hedges looked prickly, and the trees needed trimming. It was all quite picturesque, if bordering on the overgrown. There were mammals who paid through the nose for that exact style, but it was clearly unintentional in this case.

Arriving at the house continued the theme of disappointment. The building itself was quite striking in a semi-baroque style. Once upon a time, it would have been the imposing centerpiece to the property. Now, it was in need of a good coat of whitewash and the stonework needed scrubbing. For the border region of the Alpine and Meadowlands districts it wasn't surprising the whole place looked a bit windswept and damp, but the dreariness was most notable due to its feeling of emptiness.

The chauffer, who happened to be a rather stoic mountain ram, assisted us in unloading our bags from the boot of the car before leaving us in the care of the butler, a dreary llama who was even less talkative than the chauffer. I swear that she employed mutes.

* * *

 _I don't think they were mutes. They just had the joy beaten out of them by her._

 **Rabbit, I get that you didn't like her, but why are you still complaining about it?**

 _Never you mind._

 **Oh, no. You've been whining about her since we got back. What gives?**

 _Just a comment she made._

 **One comment upset you badly enough that you've been angry for two days. I haven't even managed that. What on earth did she say?**

* * *

The sense of neglect was worse inside the house. The foyer was positively dingey. The halls were dim. There was artwork along the walls, but it was not what I would have considered first class. We passed parlors and sitting rooms, a billiard room and a ballroom. In each, the furniture that was dusted, but showed no signs of use. Clearly Madame Vicugna was no longer the hostess she had been.

* * *

 _Ain't that the truth…_

 **Alright. That's it!**

 _Boss?_

 **Don't you "boss" me. What did she say? She was absent for our lunch and we had dinner delivered to our rooms. The rest of the day, we were retracing what the police covered. I only spoke to her in the evening and she was perfectly cordial, so what did she say that upset you?**

 _You spoke to her that evening?_

 **We'll get to that. Now, stop dodging and cough up.**

 _It was something she said after you left the table at breakfast._

 **Which was?**

" _Vixen bait"._

 **What?**

 _She called you vixen bait. It wasn't very complimentary._

 **Good grief, Carrots, I've been called worse. By you, in fact.**

 _That's different._

 **Judy… If I didn't know better I'd say you were jealous.**

* * *

Once our bags were stowed in our rooms in opposite wings of the manor (for propriety's sake, of course), we were escorted to the Madame's study. The social graces were at least observed there.

"Mister Wilde! How good of you to accept my invitation." The diva was practically fawning as she circled around her rather messy desk to greet us. The desktop was covered in layers of invoices, personal papers and cards. It was a bit much even for me. Carrots looked pale from the sight of it.

I took her hoof and bowed over it. It's painfully anachronistic, but she seemed to love it and a happy client is a paying client, so I consider it worth the effort. When she was done gushing over my gallantry, she turned to my companion. "And this is your secretary, isn't it? Miss…"

"Hopps," my secretary chirped. "Judy Hopps."

"A pleasure, I'm sure." She twittered over a pawshake before turning to me. "Mister Wilde, in your phone call you said you wanted to go over the crime scene with the notes from the police report. Unfortunately, I don't have them."

"You wouldn't. They're part of an active investigation and sealed to the public for a year, unless the mayor's office grants permission."

"Then, how do you intend to accomplish this? Are you on familiar terms with the mayor?"

"Not personally, but I do know a guy who knows a guy."

"That's illegal!" my secretary hissed.

"It's not what you think, Carrots. One of the mayor's aides owes me a favor. As this case has officially been closed and has no direct impact on an ongoing investigation, he fast tracked a temporary permission on part of the file. Investigating officer's notes only."

"I've never heard of that before," Judy commented.

"I could fill volumes…"

"I hate to interrupt your little tête-à-tête," Miss Vicugna reasserted herself into the conversation. "But this is on the up and up, as they say, yes?"

"Absolutely!"

"Wonderful. I'm glad to hear you are on good terms with the city's political framework." The note of pleasure in her voice concerned me. "Now, then! What do you need from me?"

"Your permission to go over the house as the police did. I need to retrace their work and fill in a few holes in my own notes."

"How long will this take, do you suppose?"

"A day, I think? I should be all buttoned up tomorrow evening. Earlier, possibly."

"Very well. Do what you must." The elderly llama moved back behind her desk and sat. "I will not be joining you at luncheon or dinner. See to your investigations and enjoy your meals. Clarence will see to any other needs you might have."

"Yes, madame," the sepulchral butler croaked out, startling both Judy and myself.

At that, we were dismissed to be about our work. Clarence escorted us to the dining room where he served us himself. I never saw the cook, but they were excellent. A three-course luncheon with two wines and fruit for dessert. A rich tomato soup, garden salad, and pasta in a white wine cream sauce with muscles for me and broccoli for Carrots. Simply excellent.

Once we had eaten the dishes vanished and so did the butler for the reminder of the day. We didn't see the mammal again until dinner, when he silently delivered my evening meal.

* * *

 **How long are you going to pout?**

 _I'm not pouting!_

 **What is it this time? My jealousy comment, or his assumptions?**

 _It has to be one?_

 **All we were doing was comparing notes. I was at the desk and you were in the chair on the opposite side of the room.**

 _He sniffed at us and was disparaging!_

 **He didn't say a word!**

 _It was a look!_

 **Good grief, rabbit, it's not our fault his sense of social etiquette is two hundred years out of date. A male and a female—adults, I might add—can occupy a room unchaperoned and not be considered inappropriate. Besides, we had clothes on.**

 _As if that was in question!_

 **The only question is why you're blushing.**

 _How about where you got that file, hmmm?_

 **I know a guy who knows a guy.**

 _So you said. Who did you bribe?_

 **I didn't bribe anyone. I just reminded Michael Buckson which fox was keeping his affair with the tea-cart girl under his hat. He did me a solid.**

 _That's blackmail!_

 **No. That's Tuesday at City Hall.**

* * *

After lunch, the day was fairly routine as far as the job went. We checked Miss Shear's former room for hiding places, then the jewelry safe in Miss Vicugna's rooms for any evidence the police may have missed. We checked under and behind all the furniture, even the wash basin, just in case. No sign of a hair pin. The walls, windows and halls were all checked, as were the front door, servant's entrance and kitchens. No sign of any sort of robbery, stealth entry, or theft.

"So, what now, boss?"

Judy and I were sitting in my room going over the case before dinner and having little luck.

"Hard to say, Carrots. There's no evidence of a crime, but there is a remarkable absence of outrageous headfur decoration around."

"Jewelry doesn't just disappear, Nick."

"Nope. And pay outs don't happen for no results."

"Don't you care about the crime?"

"No. I care about my job. Crime is a job for the police. My interest is the hairpin."

"Which happens to be gone. Are we positive the ewe didn't take it?"

"It says right in the police file. No opportunity or means. She was never allowed above the first floor for her duties and she had no idea where her mistress' room actually was, let alone access to the safe, or anywhere the pin was kept. Detective Lupins very kindly took care of that for us."

"Yes… Kind of him, wasn't it?"

"The only thing Miss Shear had was motive and the same motive than any mammal could have. Greed. She did not, however, have any known associations or relations who could fence that kind of merchandise, according to the Detective and I've ever heard her name before on the streets. No record, official or otherwise."

"Her rooms were searched. Her person, too. Not a sign."

"If you were a huge, heavy slab of jewel encrusted gold, where would you be?"

"I wouldn't."

"Oh?"

"Too frivolous for my tastes. I'd rather have a house of my own than a string of pearls."

At that moment Clarence managed to reappear. Judy fled for the safety of her room as soon as he choked out that her food was there, waiting for her. Otherwise silent, the butler left me my tray and slipped into the hall. I was glad to see him leave. The guy gave me the hebbie-jebbies.

My dinner was easily worth the effort of the case on its own. A pan-seared tuna steak, vegetable medley sauté and champagne sorbet with a lovely pinot gris and brandy to finish. An excellent meal to take one's time with. While I ate, I looked at the other papers that Carrots had abandoned in my room. Most important among them, the insurance papers. When I saw the figures, I nearly redecorated the bedspread with my brandy. That lost head decoration was worth a lot of cash. A distressing amount, in fact. Small wonder she was so keen on finding it, I thought as I sat there. Then, another thought passed through my mind that had been on the back burner since the case began.

It was possible that Miss Shear had stolen the pin, but there was another possibility that I thought was far more likely. I didn't get a chance to explore it until after the butler embarrassed my secretary into fleeing my room and I had finished my meal.

Around midnight, I slipped out of my room and down to the study where the madame had received us. I wasn't looking for anything specific. Gods knew I'd never find anything specific in the morass of papers littering the desk, but that wasn't the point. As I gingerly dug into the drifts of paperwork and started snooping. Invoices, bills, warnings and a few gentle threats. The Vicugna house was not in good graces, financially. That wasn't really a shock considering what I'd seen. The threats were what interested me most. One did not flatly harass the upper crust, even if it was deserved. The consequences were never worth it.

That, however, was interesting and nothing more. What mattered was, I had a lead.

* * *

 _You snooped!_

 **Yes…? That's kinda what I do…**

 _Why on earth did you think that digging through her personal papers was a good idea?_

 **Other than confirming a suspicion and wrapping up the case?**

 _It was an invasion of privacy!_

 **What is it that bothers you about that?**

 _It's unmannerly! You didn't need to do that to close the case._

 **I did if I wanted to wrap it up to the client's-and our patron's-satisfaction.**

 _The mysterious "Patron", again?_

 **You keep your skepticism until you meet her. She'll like that.**

 _She…?_

* * *

In the file I got from Buckson there was a sheet or two on the likelihood of an attempt at fraud. Amusingly, Detective Lupins discounted the idea owing to the "timid and excitable nature" of the diva. He'd suspected the possibility of her hiding the hairpin and trying to claim the insurance, but when he didn't find it stashed away in the mansion, the theory fell apart. He never considered her capable of the other possibility, which is exactly what I believed she did.

Leaving her study, I followed my nose to her. I found her in a drawing room, reclining in an overstuffed armchair with a tiny plate of salad and a cup of tea on a side table. A gramophone was droning out an excruciating classical piece while she flicked through a magazine. It was a picturesque tableau in its own way. For a moment the high-class socialite was just a mammal enjoying a late night with a warm drink and a snack.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Mister Wilde! Goodness, you startled me."

"Apologies, madame."

"I take it you are also having trouble sleeping?"

"Mine is less a problem than a fact," I commented as I poured myself a brandy at the side board. "I'm nocturnal by nature, so late nights come easy to me. Early mornings, less so."

"I would imagine so."

I claimed a seat nearby my hostess and took a sip of her excellent spirits. "What is keeping you from your rest, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A great many things."

"A missing headpiece among them?"

"Quite," she countered, primly.

As relatively calm as she had been at the start of our little chat, now she was aloof. Gone were the social graces and high theatrics. She was well trained and used to the theatricality of her life, but stripped away, she was very different. Quite out of her element. That night, I must have been the closest anyone had been to seeing the mammal under the glamor in years.

As the silence stretched, it was clear to me that she was not going to allow herself to be distracted. She simply waited for me to get to the point. A common tactic and a power play in these situations. Whoever speaks first cedes the upper paw in the exchange. Not that I needed it. I prefer to fight from the bottom. It's what I know.

* * *

 **Well, Carrots? No jibes? That was a perfect set up for a little dig at me.**

 _Was it._

 **What's got your ears in a knot now? The brandy? Or are you scandalized that I was alone at night in a drawing room with a female twice my age?**

 _You didn't even think to get me._

 **I beg your pardon?**

 _I knew nothing of this. I'm supposed to be helping you and I didn't even know it happened._

 **You're upset that you were left out?**

 _A little?_

 **Judy, if it was more than one mammal she'd have clammed up. I was lucky to corner her as it was.**

 _I could have stayed in the hall, or something._

 **It's better that you weren't trust me. This way you can't be called as a witness.**

 _Witness…? What did you do?!_

 **My job.**

* * *

"You have a lovely home, Miss Vigugna."

"It was once. Now, it is simply my home."

"I understand."

"Do you?" It was a statement, not a question. She clearly didn't believe me and was growing tired of my presence. I had to make my point quickly, but not offend her.

"Personally? No. I can only imagine. I have, however, known a few mammals in your position. Lovely homes, but no longer in their prime."

"I have heard you've rubbed shoulders with your betters on occasion."

"And assisted one or two in times of need. Hence the Lady who sent you my way."

"Lady Pumarez spoke highly of you and your discretion."

"Then, confide in me. My profession allows me certain privileges to keep secrets and I never break that trust."

"You ask too much, young reynard."

She wasn't about to be direct, but she wanted to talk. She was screaming for help, as much as a lady of her position could. I needed to change tactics. "You love this particular piece of jewelry, don't you? It must have some sentimental value."

"It did." Those two words and her pointed stare told me everything I needed to know. "But we outgrow things. Don't we, Mister Wilde?"

"We do. We also outlive them."

She nodded sourly. "Too often."

I sipped my brandy and mulled over what I had learned. I needed information and a plan. Thankfully, she swatted at a fleck of dirt, which gave me an idea. "Tell me Madame Vicugna, is your gardener diligent?"

"Yes. He's served this house for twenty years." If she was surprised at the change in topic she didn't show it.

"How often does he make his rounds?"

"Weekly. The grounds are not used for social gatherings as they once were. I prefer a more vibrant and free feeling when I enjoy my gardens."

It was an amusing claim for her to make considering she sneered at a smidge of dirt. She had no interest in the grounds or their care past the minimum to keep up appearances. It was, however an excellent parallel and an opportunity.

"When was he last in?"

Now, she was curious. "A week ago tomorrow. Just before the theft."

"And the weather has been gentle... if I may, could I take a turn through the gardens? Just to check the beds for anything the police could have missed?"

"Mister Wilde, It's nearly midnight."

"My night vision is excellent, Madame, and there's a good moon tonight."

"Hmmmm… Very well." She rose and padded to a shelf where she collected a book and handed it to me. "If you're still unable to sleep, I'd recommend this one. I appreciate the character of the aunt most of all in this. Clever female."

So saying, my hostess excused herself for the night and I looked at the book. Beau Geste, by P. C. Wren.

It sometimes amazes me how the upper class manages to communicate in such subtle ways. I'm no slouch at it myself, but the difference in skill is sometimes glaring. She had confirmed her situation in a very overt manner, such as it was, just to make sure I understood. It was a bit condescending, but I now had no doubt I was right.

Before she slipped out the door, I called out to her. "Madame!"

"Yes?"

"If I resolve your problem, what will you do?"

"I will not argue." And she was gone.

That was all I needed.

* * *

 _What the hell was that?_

 **That was subtlety, rabbit.**

 _It makes my head hurt. I mean, I understand that she can't say it outright, but still! And what was that thing with the book?_

 **It's a story about a stolen jewel that wasn't and why it happened.**

 _It was a what?_

 **If you want to know, read it. It's on my desk.**

 _On your- You stole her book?!_

 **No. I was given it by her to read if I had trouble sleeping. I haven't yet. When I do, I'll read it and return it.**

 _That isn't how it works and you know it._

 **You'll understand eventually.**

 _After I get severe head trauma?_

* * *

From there, the case was effectively a wrap. I found some tracks and scrapes outside a window that had gold traces in them. The police were summoned, embarrassed and forced to reopen their investigation. The insurers were forced to pay out, despite no culprit being found, which was unfortunate. The fact that the tracks were tiny indicated a rodent, or small mustelid, which cleared Miss Shear of suspicion. However, the case hit a dead end when they tried to locate anyone who might have committed the crime. The case went cold after a week and was termed unsolvable, finding its end in an archive where they put the files that are deemed too embarrassing. Judy and I had one last meal at the Vicugna estate and went home to do the billing, which was paid promptly for once.

Case closed!

* * *

 _What? Case closed? Are you kidding?_

 **What else is there to say?**

 _There are so many loose ends!_

 **I think I covered them all, Carrots. Ready to call it quits?**

 _What about the book?_

 **Judy…**

 _There was something I missed in that whole conversation. And what did you do that I wasn't supposed to witness?_

 **I'll tell you no lies, sweetheart.**

 _That'll be a first._

… **As long as you ask no questions.**

 _You fabricated the evidence, didn't you?_

 **Good night, Carrots. See you in the morning.**

 _Get back here you red-pelted coward!_

* * *

Expense Report:

Initial Consultation: $50

Daily rate: $100 x 2

Expenses incurred:

Food & Drink: Provided

Travel: Trolley – $0.05

Medical: None (for once, thank gods)

Additional fees:

Rich Customer Fee – NO

Idiot tax – NOT HAPPENING

Finder's Fee – 10% as pre-negotiated and in-contract. Sorry, Carrots.

* * *

Case Notes & Addenda:

Now that my secretary has departed for the day, I'll add these little tidbits before the file is sealed and "lost" in my filing cabinet.

Madame Vicugna paid 10% of the value of the hair pin upon payment of the insurance claim, as agreed upon in our contract. That will leave her comfortable in her decaying estate for quite some time. A further 10% found its way to us via a silent, grouchy driver two weeks later. The cash payment was left with me in a suitcase. I have dispersed the funds as I feel appropriate.

The proceeds of the case paid to us remain untouched since the purchase of the office building we work in. My secretary is unaware of this acquisition and will remain so. If she ever decides to get married, Carrots will find herself in possession of a tidy nest egg to make a start. I do take care of my people and I must admit I'm… fond of her.

Miss Shear found employment, according to the grapevine, which I suspect will come back to bite me. A letter arrived after Carrots left for the night, likely delivered by private courier. I found it when I arrived this morning. Our patron sends her regards.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N:

And here we have another installment of our favorite unfortunate sleuth. I'm not sure what else to say, so (for once) I'll keep it short. Enjoy!

* * *

From the Desk of Nicolas P. Wilde, P.I.

The Case of the Visiting Vixen

This case was one of the more unpleasant of my career for a number of reasons, but it serves to illustrate a very important lesson that applies to everyone. Your past is never as gone as you think. Every mammal in this city, and everywhere else, has a past. Some of it's good. Some is bad. Some like to show up and bite you right on the tail. A criminal will always have someone on their heels, even if they go straight. A cop will always have someone with a grudge that's gunning for 'em. Politicians make enemies hand over fist. And private investigators? Well, we get all of the above.

It's an unfortunate fact that even I have my own share of enemies. The professional ones are usually not so bad. Sniffing out an embezzler will earn a grudge, but only a mild one. Crossing paths on a case with a police investigation will get you some resentment. It's a fact of the job—one everyone at least respects and doesn't take too seriously. Don't be a prick about it and mammals will work with you. That's usually where I fall short. Too often I just can't keep my smart mouth shut.

* * *

 _Really, boss? You're able to admit that?_

 **You act as though my ego conceals my flaws.**

 _There's nothing big enough to conceal those. I'd suggest you give up trying._

 **One of my many flaws is tolerance for my secretary's lip. Fortunately, that's an easy one to fix.**

 _You don't have the moxie to fire me._

 **You're right. Your assets make up for your sharp tongue so nicely.**

 _What are you talking about? I'm not invested in the agency._

 **Oh, Carrots…. How very wrong you are…**

* * *

Alas, in this case, the past that caught up to me was not of the professional sort. It was expressly personal. That being said, the rules of professional tolerance and courtesy did not apply. Not that the client directed either of those my way in the first place.

I walked into the agency that day to find my secretary with her ear plastered against the door to my office. "Carrots, you're a terrible eavesdropper."

She snapped around, whispering, "I'm not eavesdropping!"

"Obviously. I'm out here." I commented as I removed my coat. "Hard to listen in when your target isn't in the room."

She huffed in annoyance. "Not you. On her."

That got my attention. "Her?"

"The vixen in your office!" she hissed.

"Who is alone?" I inquired.

She scoffed. "Yes!"

"Then who would she be talking to?"

"…I… Oh, shut up."

"This isn't a psyche ward, rabbit," I chuckled as I dropped my coat onto the rack. "If anyone is talking to themselves, you need to call the mammals in white coats."

She paced to her chair in a sulk. "Very funny. Dumb bunny. Har har."

"What about this client has you so interested that you'd forget your usual common sense?" My hat floated to its hook.

Judy crossed her arms. "For one thing, she's a red fox vixen. And for another, she was in your office when I arrived this morning."

That stopped me instantly. "You didn't show her in?"

"No." Judy pout was replaced by rapt attention. "She was in the chair when I came in to collect your papers for filing ten minutes ago."

There was only one mammal alive other than myself and the building superintendent who had a key to the office. The super would never let his out of his sight and my own was jangling around my coat pocket. The look on my secretary's face was one of utter bewilderment as I straightened my tie and smoothed my fur, all with a grim look as though I was headed to the gallows on my face. I must have painted quite a picture, but it got worse when I opened the door.

"Hello, darling." I couldn't help but be sarcastic. "So good of you to call ahead or write to warn me to expect you. Now, I'm late to our appointment."

"Precious as ever, Nicky," she sent right back. "Is that all you have to say to your wife?"

I heard my secretary's pad and pencil rattle off the floorboards. "Ex-wife. You were quite insistent upon that when last we spoke. The fact that you're playing that card the other way now tells me you want something. What is it?"

She resettled herself in the chair. "Really, Nicolas, do you think so poorly of me?"

"Yes. And you know I hate being called Nicolas, so you're only hurting your case." The levity left my voice. "What do you want, Melanie?"

My mood was souring more with every moment. The trouble with letting people in is that when they leave, they have ways to hurt you. And the worse the conditions are under which they leave, the more likely they are to use the hurtful options. Former spouses are among the worst in these cases, even ones that aren't as horrid as they could be. When they want to, they'll do whatever it takes to get what they want.

She sniffed. "I need your help."

"You have a gentleman friend, as I recall. Why not bother him?" I kept my tone mild, but pointed.

She glanced at the door and shifted in her seat, again. "George and I aren't seeing each other at the moment."

"Good for George, bad for me." I flopped into my chair, liking this less by the second. "Now, what is so serious you need an investigator for and so minor you couldn't go to the police?"

"I'm a fox, in case you'd forgotten," she replied flatly. "The bullies in blue wouldn't listen to me even if I stumbled into the precinct bleeding to death."

"The hazards of perfection…" I couldn't avoid the sarcasm, first as my natural reaction, but, more importantly, I knew it'd bother her. It always had. "The jealousy of the other species is such a burden isn't it?"

At that moment, my secretary chose to snort in a very unladylike manner, drawing our collective attention to her as she stood in the doorway. "The jury's out on her, but you are in no way whatsoever perfect, boss. Unless laziness is a new artform."

Melanie failed to smother a snort of her own and I commented, "According to the felid species, indolence is a way of life more than an art."

"I had no idea you had become a felinist. Have you finally broken down and gotten a membership at that peculiar club you investigated once? What was it…?" Mel inquired

"Mystic Springs," I supplied. "And no. Now enough dodging. What do you want?"

* * *

 **What is it now, Carrots?**

 _You were awfully rude to her._

 **Former spouses are seldom more than cordial to each other. And we have plenty of history to weigh us down.**

 _She's still a client._

 **No. She's a favor. Those don't get polite service.**

 _You still helped her though._

 **Rabbit, what are you getting at? I'm helping my ex-wife with a problem so she'll go away again. What's it to you?**

 _You've been tetchy since she appeared._

 **And you've been morose and hovering. When you're ready to talk to me, I'll be ready. Until then, the notes, if you please.**

* * *

As it transpired, my former spouse was indeed in need of assistance—but not exactly of the investigative variety. She knew what her problem was, but couldn't fix it. She wanted me to do it for her.

"Nicolas, I'm sure you don't care about this from a personal angle, but you do have an invested interest in this matter."

I checked my nails. "And what would that be?"

"George intends to go into politics. He has the clout and backing. Everything he needs to make parliament and stay there." Her tone was firm and proud. I felt my sour mood curdle.

"Including the perfect marital prospect," I dropped my paw to the arm of my chair. "You can stop bragging any time now and kindly get to the point."

She seemed ruffled by my reaction. "My point is that I am not the perfect wife. My… past has come back to bite me."

I had a sick suspicion of where this was headed, and I didn't like it one bit. "This 'past' that's troubling you has to do with how we met, I presume?"

"It does." She fidgeted in her seat. "He made contact with George and I two weeks ago. He's demanding money, or he'll talk."

"To whom? He's got as much to lose as you." Amature blackmailers often made that kind of mistake. It was a sharp learning curve for those that didn't end up in jail or dead.

She forcibly stilled her paws in her lap. "It appears he doesn't care. Blackmailing me is the lesser of the evils, and I'd suspect that prison would be safer for him than who or whatever he owes money to."

"Uh-huh…. And what is my stake in this?"

"It would hurt your agency if our joint history came out." The look in her eyes told be she knew how desperate her reasoning was.

I was not about to give in so easily. "You don't know the circles I move in. I might go up in some estimations."

"And George has the influence to do more." Now, we were getting to it. I was disappointed, but not surprised.

"So you're blackmailing me to deal with your blackmailer." My smile was nasty and I knew it. "You'll make a fine politician's wife, Mel."

She at least had the decency to look ashamed of herself. Whatever else she was, Melanie was no fool. She wasn't about to do anything in ignorance. She was familiar with consequences. That being the case, she was aware of her own poor behavior. Here, she was getting her paws dirty for the sake of her future and she knew it. Not a bad thing to do if you're the one on the giving end of the equation. She had a future and a male worth playing dirty for. I was on the receiving end of that particular sharp stick, and I didn't like it one little bit.

"I can't believe this." I raked my paws over my ears in frustration. "When we split, you said we were square. I forgave any debt you had to me ,and you agreed we'd never have dealings with each other again. Now you're here to press me into cleaning up a mess I already dealt with for you once?"

She met my eyes. "Yes."

I felt my hackles rise. "You really have some chops on you to say it so brazenly."

"Nicolas…. Nick," her shoulders dropped in defeat, "I know I'm asking a lot."

"Isn't that wonderful?" Saccharine acid dripped from every syllable. "You can't fix it for yourself and your precious fiancée won't dirty his paws, but you expect me to do this out of the goodness of my heart?"

"I was hoping you'd help out an old friend."

"You and I are _not_ friends. Not after what you just pulled on me. Now you both stand to gain from this. What do I get out of it? Other than not harassed by your meal ticket?"

In response, she pulled a small card out of her handbag. I felt the blood drain from my face as she slid it across my desk.

"Where did you get that?" I croaked.

"I was told that this would motivate you." Her tone was wavering. Clearly, she hadn't expected such a strong reaction.

"Congratulations, Mel." The contempt in my voice was blatant. "You're finally part of the upper crust."

She shifted forward, an apology on her lips, but she only got as far as "Nick…"

"Not another word, vixen," I spat.

I picked up the card and stood. I know my anger was showing on my face as I walked to my filing cabinet and dropped the filigreed millstone into the cigar box I kept there. It joined the little pile of them I had accumulated—a tally of my life as a pet.

When I turned back to her, I was not kind with my words. "I'll deal with him and you, or your future hubby will pay whatever I ask. No questions. No arguments. No haggling. No negotiations. And as soon as I'm paid, you will never show your face in my presence again."

She swallowed thickly. "Nick, please…"

"It's Mister Wilde, vixen." I snarled as I tugged my suit jacket straight. "Leave where I can contact you with my secretary and get out."

"Nicky?" Now, she sounded genuinely upset. Almost as though she didn't know how badly she'd screwed up until then.

I turned my back on her, facing the window. "The bridge is burned, Miss Redtail. That's the price of using that card. Leave."

* * *

 _Boss…_

 **What is it, now, Carrots?**

 _Normally, I wouldn't question your methods, but this…_

 **You question everything I do on a regular basis. Why would this be any different?**

 _You aren't the confrontational sort. I've never seen you fight, and I know you prefer to run over squaring off. Why are you doing this?_

 **Any sane mammal would rather run than fight, rabbit. Ask any soldier.**

 _You…you were a soldier?_

 **I was an airman. The first rule of combat is simple: "Don't get killed". The second is "Kill the other guy".**

 _I don't understand._

 **You can't fight if you're dead, so stay alive and you can fight again tomorrow.**

 _Not that. Why fight now?_

 **Some mammals don't listen to reason. It was that way in the war and it's the same at home. If I can avoid it I will, but sometimes you have to fight.**

 _For her?_

 **No. For the owner of that card.**

* * *

Mel wanted me to help fix her little problem and didn't care how I did it. That card was all the answer I needed on why I should, but it didn't make it any more palatable. Needless to say, my secretary was all over me like a cheap suit the moment Melanie trundled out the door.

"What are you going to do?" She looked like she'd spring into action any moment.

I brushed past her as quickly as I could. "Fix her problem and be glad she's gone. I'll celebrate with a bottle of cheap bourbon and wish her safe travels far, far from me."

She scampered along at my heels. "What does she need help with?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. See to the office. I'll be back later." The sooner I was gone the better.

I could almost taste the worry in her voice when she said, "Boss?"

"It's fine, Judy. I'll take care of it." With that, I left.

This wasn't a complex case. I had one mammal to deal with and that would be that. Once upon a youth misspent, I'd helped a young lady of my species out of a bind. The owner of the café had run a less than legal side business from the back of his cabaret. She was a singer that he'd wanted to recruit for his other customers and had been willing to use opium to manage it. I had gotten her out and nursed her back to health before he'd gotten what he wanted, but that had caused a lot of problems for me.

I'd found out from that first-hand how Florence Nightingale had dealt with caring for her patients. A whirlwind romance, a marriage, and a divorce later, Mel and I had agreed to go our separate ways and stay out of each other's lives. We didn't exactly hate each other, but we knew we'd made a huge mistake in getting involved. She was extremely ambitious and I was content with my little niche in life. It was destined to end badly—and it did.

That said, I didn't bear her any real ill will. Rather, I hadn't until now. She'd crossed a line—something she was good at—to get what she wanted and it'd cost her what little lingering affection I might have had for her. Once she was gone, I'd be glad to see the back of her and pray I never saw her again.

The thought passed through my head as I saw the card again and I knew I would. My patron would assure it for her own amusement, if nothing else.

* * *

 _So, the card is from our mysterious benefactor._

 **Superb detective work there, Carrots. Now, where's the bourbon I told you to pick up?**

 _You're not getting a drop until you tell me something. What's the deal with this "patron" person? Why do you dislike them so much? What does she have over you to make you do what she says despite hating it?_

 **Our patron…is someone I owe a debt to. I don't dislike her, but…we have a long history and it's complicated. I dislike following her orders because they hurt us both and I don't deserve it. Neither does she.**

* * *

As I was saying, this case was a simple matter of getting one nasty little mammal to back off. That, I could handle. Two trollies and an annoyingly long walk saw me walking down memory lane. The neighborhood was the same as when I'd walked them last, only the streets were dirtier now and I wasn't in uniform.

Everything felt threadbare and grimy. That may have been rose-coloring from the halcyon days before the war or it may have been the weight of everything that came after. Either way, it left a bad taste in my mouth that got worse with every step I took. My mouth was curled in a scowl of bitter distaste by the time I stood at the door to the old cabaret.

The Jester's Sunrise was once a crummy bar with a stage and a kitchen in back. All these years later, it looked unchanged aside from the new layer of slime. It was here that I had first met Melanie. She was a singer and I was an airman, both scraping by. Then the scumbag I was visiting had gotten involved.

I forced down my bile and opened the door. It was never locked. A pair of bouncers intercepted me and provided an escort to the manager's office. Once there, they took up posts to either side of the door. They were large for kudu, but thin for their size and their eyes looked dull. It didn't bother me at the time.

What a mistake.

I shoved open the closet Noah called an office and strode in. "Hello, Thorntree. You look the same as ever."

"Wilde." The nasty little hyrax sneered. "Thought I smelled something."

The tired jab didn't phase me. "I'm sure even you can guess why I'm here."

"If I gave you any thought I might." Noah didn't bother hiding his distaste at my presence and openly snorted. "But if I had to guess, you're here to be an idiot over that female again."

"Good guess." I felt my frown deepen. "I want you to back off."

He spat on the floor. "You'll want a glass of ice water when you're back in Hell, fox. You won't get that, either."

I stared the little bastard down. "I'm not asking."

"I don't give a damn what you're doing," Noah snarled. "The last time we talked, you left me with a broken jaw. Your uniform saved your tail then, but the war is over. I'm a legitimate businessmammal and you're attempting to intimidate me."

I felt my lips curl into a snarl. "Legitimate business mammals don't drug their singers to keep their brothel stocked with fresh girls."

"You got any proof, fox? Of course, you don't. Because there is none. Therefore, you've got nothing." Thorntree smiled. I wanted to break his jaw again. "Not that anyone would believe the testimony of a fox, anyway."

I decided to change tactics. "Why are you blackmailing her?"

"What, are you stupid?" He laughed. "Money. What else? You need money to make money. And I want to make money."

"You've got a new side business?" I scoffed, just to provoke him.

He scowled, but didn't bite. "Not your concern, Wilde. I'm not looking for partners and I've got the investors I need."

"If you've got investors, why do you need something as dangerous as blackmail to make ends meet? Or is it that they're being stingy, and you've got to make up the difference as proof of your commitment?" I added a demeaning sneer and chuckle to the end.

"I got no time for nosey vermin." Noah raised his voice, "Boys!"

I held up my paws. "How about I just go. No need for a black mark against you with the cops for beating a customer, right?"

I winked just to annoy him. It worked. "You know, it's real nice to see you stepping up in the world. 'Business mammal' is a hell of a step up from drug peddling pimp."

He jumped up to stand on his chair. "Get him out of here!"

As his semi-vacant thugs grabbed me, I knew I had seconds to get something out of him. He was angry, so I had to double down. Thankfully, nasty little creatures like Noah were predictable.

"I guess I spoke too soon, Noah. You haven't changed a bit. Still the small-time petty thug dreaming of the big time," I sing-songed over my shoulder.

"You shut your pie hole, fox!" he screeched. "In two weeks, I'll have the chops to wreck vermin like you. So if I ever see your ugly mug in my presence again, you'll get what your little bitch got and there won't be any white knight to save _your_ sorry tail. Get him out of here!"

I lucked out with the two bullyboys I was stuck with. They weren't the sharpest or most focused of mammals. They also seemed to be a little new to the job. Instead of roughing me up like a seasoned enforcer would do, they just dumped me into the alley behind the club. I didn't even lose my footing. Instead, I very nearly lost my lunch.

The alley was occupied.

At the time, I could only assume they were opium addicts. I'd seen my share of poppy smokers over the years and the sight never sat well with me. These were more of the same—all species and sizes and none of them seeing this world. Some were seeing nothing at all. A tiger stared into space, grinning like a madman, but unable to move. A fox, two badgers, and a racoon huddled together against the nightmares. A wolf drooled next to a pig writhing in pain against the brick wall and a few small shapes twitched and squealed in the shadows. I felt for them, but there was nothing I could do. The cops wouldn't do much beyond move the inebriated mammals to the drunk tank—assuming they showed up at all—and all they'd get for it was a court date.

I heard something smash on an upper floor and Noah's voice. Something about cleaning the place up before opening. I had a sick feeling he meant the alley. Instead of making a ruckus, I made tracks. I knew one mammal who might help if it was good for business.

* * *

 _You're unbelievable._

 **What now, Judy? How have I disappointed you this time?**

 _I…. You know a lot of mammals that are, um…_

 **Disreputable is the kind word. What's your point?**

 _Why do you deal with them? There are legitimate ways to get what you need to do your job._

 **As Thorntree pointed out, I'm a fox. Legitimate won't work with me.**

 _But—_

 **No buts, rabbit. Accept it. I do my best with the shit I'm given. Sometimes it's enough.**

* * *

Mister Big saw me quickly when I arrived at his estate. We cut straight to the disappointment.

"I am aware, Nicky." His words were directed to his nails more than me.

His disinterested tone stunned me."What do you mean you're aware?"

Alonzo grunted. "Don't take me for a meatball, fox. I know everything that happens on my turf, including what happens at that club."

"So you know he uses opium to feed talent from his cabaret's stage to his brothel's beds?" I asked, half-fearful of the answer.

"An unsavory practice I put a stop to when I gained power." He lifted a cautioning finger. "Thorntree is a parasite, but such things are inescapable. The best we can do is contain it."

"And turn a profit." I added, spitefully.

"I'm a businessmammal, Nicky. I make money. I prefer to keep some practices out of my turf, but if I demand too much I'll have an uprising on my paws. That's bad for business. If it gets too serious, some ambitious fool could try to bum rush me and then it gets bloody." He shook his head and leaned back into his chair. "No… What you ask is too much."

I felt my fists clench in my pockets. "Thorntree is up to something. The way he threatened me, it has to do with drugs."

"And if he proves to handle it poorly, I will take it over and he will disappear," Alonzo replied blandly.

"And the mammals whose lives are ruined by them?" I asked knowing the answer.

Big shrugged. "Mushugunnah."

"You can't be serious," I rubbed my forehead in frustration. "You know what those poisons do."

He met my eyes evenly. "Nicky, we are all entitled to choose our own path to hell."

I stared back hard. "Noah likes to make that choice for others. You think he's changed?"

The shrew's eyes hardened. "If it hasn't, he'll feel my wrath. Until then, it's just business."

I left the Big estate disgusted. There's a dive somewhere in the bayou that earned a small mint off me that night, but I couldn't tell you the name of it. I resurfaced the following morning in a haze of alcohol fumes and regret. For a few minutes, I couldn't tell which was louder, my head or the giant beating on my door.

Koslov allowed me long enough to drink some water and put on a clean shirt before she stuffed me into a car and dragged me back to the Big estate. I knew this meant nothing good, and I was right. I was dropped in front of the mafioso with little ceremony and no regard for my delicate feet. Mister Big wasted no time in beating around the bush. He was furious.

"I have one question for you, fox." His voice was low and colder than the Tundratown air. "What did you see while you were at Thorntree's?"

Naturally, I spilled my guts. I told him everything and his boys hovering around me assured I didn't slow down. My fear intensified as the telling went on. There was particular interest in the alley I left through and what I overheard as I left. I swear the ten minutes I spent there that day shortened my life by a decade. By the end, I was sweating and sure I was going to die.

Alonzo leaned forward, gripping the arms of his little chair. "Did you see anyone specific? Someone small, perhaps?"

I knew I was a floorboard away from death. "Mister Big, Sir, there were a lot of shapes in the shadows. Some were small. Some weren't moving."

"You didn't look too close then," he spat.

"I know better than to poke too deeply." I barely held my ground under his piercing gaze. "I'm a fox, but I'm not stupid."

"No. That you are not." He leaned back in his chair.

With a wave to his boys, the pressure and intimidation dropped a peg. I felt close to being able to breathe again. Then, I heard why I was subject to such treatment and breathing became much less of a guarantee.

"We found my nephew this morning. He was dead." The last three words felt like hammer blows.

I swallowed as best I could. "I'm sorry to hear that."

The emotion in his voice was terrifying. "He died of something the doctors on my payroll have never seen. A poison of some kind. A poison, Nicky. Just like the one you warned me about last night."

"I did that. Yes." I felt my heart drop to toe level.

"You did." Tiny claws bit into the arms of Mister Big's chair. "We found him in a dumpster, wrapped in a newspaper like a piece of trash. And you tell me that Thorntree ordered the alley 'cleaned up'. Is that right?"

I swallowed thickly. "It is, Sir."

"You tried to warn me." He sighed. "I said everyone is free to choose their path to hell. You said that some mammals like to make that choice for you. This isn't business anymore, Nicky. This is a Family matter now."

I nodded once. "I understand, Sir."

Alonzo lifted a paw to Koslov and the huge bear collected him, chair and all. "My sister's son will be put to rest and then we will address the ones responsible for his death."

All I could do was swallow and nod sharply. I knew it was likely I'd be lumped in with Thorntree and turned into a fox-cicle. I could only hope that if I stayed quiet, I'd be allowed to slink off and vanish for a few hundred years, until it was safe to return. I got what I wanted. Sort of.

Before leaving, Alonzo paused and turned to me. "You will be escorted off the estate. I owe you an apology for ignoring you, but do not cross my path until I've had time to grieve. I try very hard not to blame the messenger, but right now I want to taste blood. Leave quickly, Nicky. I will reach out to you when it is time."

The moment I was outside the gates, I ran for my life.

* * *

 **I can hear your foot drumming a march on the floorboards. Spit it out.**

 _Why do you work with Mister Big so easily, but not this patron of yours?_

 **Mister Big is a reasonable mammal. He can be paid, convinced, or argued with as long as you're respectful and polite.**

 _And your patron isn't?_

 **She has more money than she'll ever need, can't be budged once her mind is made up, and manners mean nothing to her.**

 _If she's that well off, why don't you just marry her?_

 **Don't think she hasn't suggested it, oh sullen one. If she was thirty years younger, she'd insist on it.**

* * *

The next day all the newspapers had stories about an explosion and fire at a nightclub in Tundratown. Some new drug had been found at the scene. The owner had vanished, the cops were furious, lawmakers aghast—the whole circus was involved. There was even a new voice on the scene—a candidate for an ombudsman's seat on the city council was using the event as fodder to kick off his campaign for office. He was a very nice Reynard from a wealthy family and had a lovely vixen next to him in the newspaper photos. It made me sick enough to spit.

My morning was made even more pleasant by the appearance of a certain Chief of police on my doorstep with a case in hoof. I was already in a terrible mood, so I was not as polite as I could have been—but that's not entirely my fault. False accusations of criminal activity are a sure-fire way to get my hackles up. The chief sat heavily on the chair opposite my desk and set his case gingerly next to him. It was so out of character I might have laughed under better circumstances.

Of course, he came straight to the point. "There's no evidence of your involvement, but this has your stink all over it."

I was less than polite with my words. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"I want to say trafficking," Bogo said as though he were discussing the weather.

I couldn't believe my ears. "Excuse me?"

"You have ties to a lot of mammals." He rested his elbows on his knees, staring over his hooves. "The drug lab we found in the basement was no small operation and you were seen entering and leaving the building yesterday. Now it's in ruins and there are rumors of Family involvement. I'm giving you a chance to—"

My snarl killed the rest of whatever else he was about to say. "No, Chief, I'm giving you a chance. You can leave right now, or I swear to whatever gods there are I'll see you in court."

He looked at me as though he'd never seen me before. "What did you say, fox?"

"In the war and on the streets, I've seen it all. I've seen what that filth does to people." My voice was pure venom. "If you think I had anything to do with making it, selling it, anything—You can get your ass out of my office and stay out, or the next time you talk to me it'll be through Miranda."

The Chief's eyes bugged.

"If you think I'm joking, try me, Bogo." I let my paw come to rest on my phone's handle. "Just try."

"I see." Bogo collected himself. "Clearly, I'm spending too much time at the office. Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Wilde."

Before he left, he met my eyes. "If you ever speak to me that way again, I'll have your hide."

I didn't flinch. "There's no risk of that as long as we understand each other."

He snorted and left. The moment I heard the outer door close, my secretary was in my office in a tizzy. I didn't even have a chance to exhale.

"What was that about?" She was far closer than I was comfortable with. It was almost protective.

I leaned away, adjusting my tie. "He was sounding me out."

"About the drugs?" she pressed in again and I pushed her back with a sigh.

"About my role in it." I corrected. "He knew I was involved. The how of it was his concern."

Her head cocked. "So he antagonized you?"

"He interrogated me. I got angry when he implied that I was in with the dealer." I finally tooka deep breath and sagged into my chair.

"That doesn't mean anything." The incredulity in her voice was oddly comforting.

"A scumbag fox threatening the chief of police with a flesh-eating lawyer?" I laughed hollowly. "Yes, it does."

Judy stopped drumming her foot. "Miranda is that mean?"

"She's the definition of 'bitch'. Bogo knows I wouldn't go that far unless I was dead serious." I massaged the back of my neck with a tired paw. "My odds of winning are slim no matter what, so I wouldn't bother unless I was just that damn furious at his half-baked accusation."

"You're in the clear then?" She sounded adorably hopeful.

"I think so." My eyes fell to the chair across from me and what was beside it. "It depends on what's in that case."

I'd noticed the piece of luggage with him and the fact that it had not been taken away. That wasn't like him, and it was far too large for him to have forgotten it. He was a cop, but not one of the dim-witted ones. If he'd left it, there was a reason.

Miss Hopps attempted to lift the case, but found it too heavy. Between the two of us, we got it onto my desk and opened. Inside, to my astonishment, were two cases of alcohol.

Cases.

I repeat that word because it bears repeating. The Chief of police for Precinct One gave me two cases of alcohol. Apparently, the Chief knew more than he let on and the operation I'd exposed via my familial connections was worthy of thanks.

If I ever claimed such a thing had occurred, I'd likely find myself on the receiving end of a slander case and charged with every crime conceivable. I feel safe documenting these events in their true form here, as my files will never be read by anyone other than myself and my secretary. Despite Miss Hopps' insistence, I know too well how little my kind are regarded and what my honesty is worth.

Miss Hopps scampered off while I extracted the two boxes from the carrying case and set them on the desk. One case was of carrot vodka and the other was fifteen-year-old scotch. Neither were cheap by any measure. Either Bogo had a windfall and wanted to share the wealth, or I owed the bullies in blue a solid for their collective donations towards combating my sobriety.

My secretary returned with a pair of glasses and a nervous smile. "I think you need one, boss. And it'd be rude of me to let you drink alone."

I watched, bemused as she cracked one bottle of each type and poured us each a measure of our preferred poison. Mine was quite generous.

"To good fortune?" she offered.

To my shame, I scoffed at her. I couldn't drink to her words, not after this case. "To making the best of the worst."

We drank and she went home after sorting out the rest of the paperwork for the day. I stayed, making good headway into my bottle before stumbling to the couch in my office and passing out. Some days, there is no silver lining and the best you can do is speed along the morning.

* * *

Expense Report:

Initial Consultation: $10

Daily rate: $20

Expenses incurred:

Food & Drink: Bartab - $19.75

Travel: Trolley x 2 - $.10, Bus $.05

Medical: Bottle of aspirin - $0.10, Alkaseltzer - $0.25

Additional fees:

See Private File for donation from Ombudsman Firebrush & spouse.

Case Notes & Addenda:


End file.
